A Tale of Two Nightingales
by thesassenach
Summary: After a deadly mistake forces her on the run, Freja joins the Thieves Guild to hide from her troubles. But as she falls deeper into their world of shadows, a conspiracy reveals itself, and Freja will discover she's in far more danger than she ever imagined.
1. Prologue: A Stolen Contract

**Prologue: A Stolen Contract**

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_**Hello, friends. Here begins the next adventure. Hope you enjoy!**_

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Freja was exhausted. This, however, was the last leg of the journey to Riften, and she couldn't give up now when she made it so far. She traveled for nearly a fortnight, only stopping to sleep at the random mills and taverns dotting Skyrim in exchange for hard labor or the little gold she could spare. It was late, but her eyes had adjusted to the darkness of her surroundings by now—there was nothing but thick woods, an occasional lake or stream, and a wild beast or two which never proved much of a challenge against her blade. The bitter wind whipped at Freja's face, and she clenched her jaw, tucking away the wisps of blonde hair that had escaped her long braid.

Since her escape at Helgen, Freja drifted from one place to the next, looking for ways to make a profit. She heard a rumor about a group of thieves living beneath the streets of Riften—a group offering gold and protection. Those were two things she needed desperately at the moment. For the most part, Freja had excellent luck, up until a month ago, when she was caught by the Imperials crossing Skyrim's border in an attempt to find her brother. They were separated nearly five years ago, and Freja had been searching for him ever since. She was getting close—hints and clues were beginning to add up, stories coming together—when she was captured with the jewels of a certain Altmer nobleman in her pocket, jewels she'd taken in order to pay her way across the border and beyond. Needless to say, things hadn't ended well. It turned out that he was a high ranking official in the Aldemeri Dominion, and since the Empire was currently eating out of the palm of the Dominion's hand, she faced the block. How she escaped was another tale entirely—but more on that another time.

If she'd only stayed away from that Aretino boy! She shivered, wrapping her bearskin furs around her body more tightly as the wind whipped snow into her face. Freja could see the entrance gate of Riften, and tried her best to distract herself with thoughts of the city—but they still drifted back to Windhelm. _Why did I do it..._

She'd heard rumors of a boy performing the Black Sacrament. It was a dangerous business, calling upon the Dark Brotherhood. From what she'd heard from the townsfolk, he hadn't met with any representative yet, but was desperate. Half of her brain told her it could be an opportunity to earn some gold, while the other half was simply curious about the boy. After all, everyone knew that the Dark Brotherhood was a shadow of its former self, in Skyrim as well as Cyrodiil. What could be the harm? From all that she'd heard, it seemed as though the Black Sacrament no longer worked; it was a silly ritual that fell on deaf ears.

She slipped into his home one afternoon to find him whispering the words of the sacrament as passionately as a prayer to the Nine. Without being able to stop herself, Freja snuck up on him, startled him with a tap on the shoulder and haughtily introduced herself as a murderer for the Dark Brotherhood. What ensued was madness. The boy, Aventus, wanted the mistress of the orphanage in Riften, Grelod the Kind, to be murdered. Apparently, the old woman was anything but kind—an old crone who mistreated the children at every turn. Freja accepted the commission, heading to Riften in the hopes of convincing this Grelod the Kind to retire from the orphanage so no blood had to be shed. She wasn't a murderer—usually. After all, the payment would be well earned either way.

But upon Freja's arrival in Riften for the first time, she found this task of getting Grelod to leave the orphanage difficult. Most of the children were asleep when she arrived, except for one young blonde girl, who was being beaten by the old woman with a broom. Freja was horrified and approached the old hag.

"Grelod, I presume? I have to ask you to stop immediat—" Her voice was light but serious. Before she could finish, the old woman turned on her, pushing the child to the ground as she approached.

"Who in Oblivion's name are you? And what are you doing here at this hour?"

Freja struggled for a story, but she was quick on her feet. "There've…been complaints about the way you run this place. I'm here to ask you to give up your position and retire peacefully." She offered a forced smile, crossing her arms and standing up tall. The little child behind Grelod's eyes widened, and she silently snuck through the nearest doorway. The fear in her face reminded Freja of her own youth. It gave her more reason to complete the task with success.

Grelod's eyes burned with fury. "Did Constance put you up to this? Finally grew a conscience enough to do something about it, eh? Well," Grelod barked, slapping the broomstick into her left hand, "I guess I'll have to give her what I give the children. A proper beating! But first, get out of my damn orphanage before I cut you up! You have three seconds!"

Freja was taken aback by the old woman's behavior, but decided she wouldn't leave until the hagraven gave up. "I'm sorry, Grelod, but I won't leave this place until you hand it over to someone else and resign yourself to a quiet—" Before she could finish, a fire rose in Grelod. A strangled cry escaped her throat, and she lunged at Freja, pulling a dagger from her side. In that moment, Freja resorted to instinct, reaching behind her to grab her Ebony bow and arrows. In one deft movement, she drew the arrow back and allowed it to fly full force into the chest of the old woman. Grelod shot backwards, and the room was silent.

Freja held her breath. Had she really just done it? Had she attacked the woman? _But she was beating the child! Making threats! Coming after me! _Freja thought of excuses, but her guilt was still heavy. She'd always walked a fine line with her actions, but murder was usually never an option.

Shaking herself out of the shock of the moment, Freja stood up straight and fastened her bow to her back. Taking a few steps forward, she looked down at the old woman's body. Her chest was unmoving; no breath entered or exited. She was dead. Blood was beginning to exit the wound. Hearing whispers, Freja looked up to see the girl from before in the room again, staring at Grelod's lifeless figure. Other children had joined her now, hearing the commotion. They huddled together, a look of wonderment crossing all their pale, young faces. Freja felt naked before them.

"Aventus really did it…" A young boy with dark hair said. "He really got the Dark Brotherhood to get rid of Grelod!" Hearing a murmur from a nearby room, Freja detected the soft voice of a young woman, asking the children what the ruckus was about. Freja knew in that moment that she either had to escape, or stand and face what she had done. She considered telling the truth and explaining that Grelod had become violent (it seemed believable enough). But Freja decided against the truth; as much as priests of the Nine Divines urged that living with truth was liberating, Freja found that it brought nothing but grief. Lies were so much more useful—and creative. Turning on her heel, she ran as fast as she could out the front door of Honorhall Orphanage and disappeared into the black of the night.

She left Riften that very night, and planned on never seeing the broken down city again. But then…things grew worse. She decided to spend a few days in the town of Riverwood after arriving from Riften. Freja wanted to lay low, to do some honest work and forget the gruesome scene in Honorhall. While walking along the dirt road in Riverwood, a breathless courier delivered her a note. She unfolded it, almost expecting good news, but her cheeks immediately drained of all color. On it, in black ink, was the imprint of a hand, and below, the words "_we know_." There was no doubt at its meaning. The Dark Brotherhood had caught wind of Freja's little incident, and they were displeased. She had stolen a murder from them, and no doubt they would demand flesh for the flesh she had taken. Freja barely believed it—after all, were the Dark Brotherhood operational in Skyrim? They were all but done across the continent. She greatly underestimated them. _Stupid, stupid Freja, _she thought to herself over and over again.

In that moment, panic washed over her, and she ran to her room in the inn. Freja would never forget how empty and cold she felt as she sat on her bed. Curled into a ball, she let the paper with their message of foreboding fall to the floor. It drifted quickly through the air in one direction, then another, like her thoughts. Would they come after her? Where could she run? Her mind fell back to Riften, and rumors she'd heard of the city. They would never suspect her to hide out in the very place where she'd committed the crime to begin with, at least not after so many weeks had passed—plus, they already knew of her presence in Riverwood, most likely. As far as she'd heard, Grelod's murder was unsolved, and since she was such an unpopular woman, the Jarl was slow to delve deeper into the incident. And there were whispers of a group of thieves living beneath the city…thieves who were all too well acquainted with darkness and shadow…thieves who could perhaps help her disappear from the threat of the Dark Brotherhood. The next morning, before the sun rose, Freja set out.

And all that had led her to this moment—to the gates of Riften. She pulled her hood up around her face to appear more intimidating. Everyone underestimated her, with her white-blonde hair and delicate features.

She approached the guard.

"Halt! Before I let you go in, you must pay a visitor's tax," the man bellowed in an accented voice. His face was round and pockmarked. The beginning of a smile pulled at the corner of Freja's lips, making her twitch delicately with a hint of anger. She hadn't even gotten into the city, and she could see once more the blatant corruption this place was infamous for.

"A visitor's tax?" Freja said smoothly, pulling her hood down to reveal her pretty face to the guard. He smiled devilishly, probably surprised to see such a small and delicate-looking woman. It was sometimes her vulnerability, but it could also be her strength. People let their guard down upon viewing Freja—her pink lips, milky skin and light blonde hair made her seem more like a priestess of Dibella than a thief…and now murderer.

He reached up to brush the hair from her cheek. "Well, aren't you a pretty one..."

Her voice suddenly became hard and darkened, and she grabbed his wrist in the flash of a second. "Touch me again and I'll skin you alive. Believe me…you wouldn't enjoy the feeling. The last one didn't." Her expression was very grave, and the guard pulled his hand quickly away from her.

"I don't want no trouble!" He cried.

"Good, then let me pass without paying. I promise I won't cause trouble in the city, and you can keep your skin as long as you forget you ever saw me." He nodded in compliance, turning aside to let her enter.

_Coward,_ she thought. _Now, to find the man who can help me. Shoulder-length hair, bright green eyes, always calling the ladies 'lass….' What was his name?_ She could hardly remember. But she would find him soon enough.


	2. Child's Play

**Child's Play**

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_**Hello all, welcome to the next chapter. Hope you enjoy!**_

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Brynjolf sat alone at a table in the Bee and Barb—his tavern of choice in Riften. One of the only taverns in this gods-forsaken town. Gripping the frosty mug of mead before him, his knuckles tensed under the calloused skin covering it. He was a strong man of twenty and seven, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a spark always shining in his greenish-gray eyes. But today, that shine was a little less bright. Things were going badly for the guild, so badly. And what could he do? He never believed much in curses, as Delvin seemed to, but something about this didn't seem right. Things only got worse. Mercer was insufferable, and the morale of his brothers and sisters in the shadows was low.

This was the first time in days he'd been able to just sit in the Bee and Barb and enjoy a drink, as every other day he'd been scouring Riften, looking for a new face, a new trinket to steal or a new scam to put in motion. Brynjolf took pleasure in the company of a pretty woman, or in a fine drink, or in the feeling of gold in his pocket. But for some reason, these things were dull and lifeless to him as of late. Riften had turned gray since the fate of the Guild had darkened. And to add to the mood, ever since the old woman was killed inside the orphanage, the town had become different; rumors swirled that the Dark Brotherhood was hired to do away with Grelod (she had many enemies), and the guards were so tense that it was interfering with Brynjolf's occasionally illegal amusements. However, Delvin, with his contacts, connections and friendships in the Dark Brotherhood, assured the Guild that it was not their doing, although they were livid. What was going on? The winds had suddenly changed in Riften, and Brynjolf felt mayhem on the horizon.

Without thought, Brynjolf glanced to the wooden stairs of the Bee and Barb just in time to see a young woman descending them. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. Her skin was light and clear, all milk and honey to his eyes. Her eyes were piercing, although he couldn't tell the color, as she was halfway across the room. The woman was short with a thin frame, a delicate nose, full lips and long, white-blond hair that fell down her back in waves. He immediately wondered about the curves of her body, as they were well hidden beneath a black cloak. Perhaps she was the Sybil of Dibella, visiting all the way from Markarth? But he'd heard that the new Sybil had been discovered, delivered by some stranger a few months ago, and that she was a very young girl. And if it were she, then where was her envoy? And what business could such a lady possibly have in the filth of Riften? The woman neared, approaching the bar to sit down and drink, he assumed. Brynjolf noticed, as she came closer, the sharpness of her looks and features. She gave off an air of intimidation, as if she was not one to be trifled with—almost like Vex, but colder still. What a contradiction she seemed. So delicate and so hardened all at once.

He continued to daydream, staring at her profile from his seat, until he was startled by her departure from the place altogether. Without thinking, Brynjolf hastily rose and followed her out to the market stalls.

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He watched the shape of her move gracefully through the stalls, and Brynjolf would have been ashamed to realize he was following her with more speed than was necessary. But he didn't notice. He only knew he had to follow her. He had to know where she was going, he had to know who she was because if—

Before he could finish his thought, he noticed that the woman had pulled her hood tightly up over her head and made a sharp right down a narrow passageway. _It wouldn't be wise to follow her. Who knows who she is…_ Brynjolf thought to himself. Although his mind was saying sensible things, his body took the sharp turn after her. She turned her head swiftly around, and upon catching sight of Brynjolf, her speed quickened. Brynjolf followed suit, zig-zagging around the wooden walkways near the water. The sun was bright and reflected on the water, almost blindingly so. Suddenly, she broke out into a full-fledged run. Brynjolf was alarmed—what was going on? His curiosity was peaked now—there was no going back, no matter the implications.

"Wait! Lass, stop!" He called after her, picking up the pace, but she didn't slow. In fact, she began to sprint even more quickly to the left, then down another passage, then down a main street. Brynjolf's chest was heaving. He was fast, but she was faster. Just when Brynjolf was about to give up, he noticed her turn down by the blacksmith's shop—a dead end. She obviously didn't know Riften well. It was his advantage to gain. Speeding down the alley, he closed the distance between the two of them to a few feet. The woman's back was to him, but her hood had fallen away to reveal her long near-white hair tangled and knotted over her arms. By the way her shoulders were moving up and down, she was gasping for air. He had better explain himself. For whatever reason, this woman believed Brynjolf to be a threat. Although he was stupid enough to follow her just because he thought she was fetching, so it was no wonder she got the wrong impression. _Idiot, _he scolded himself.

He raised his hands to her. "Lass, I'm not going to hurt you…" Their eyes met. For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

Freja watched him intently. Upon looking at him more closely, he did resemble the man she was supposed to find, the one who would lead her to the Thieves Guild. But she was too panicked by his following her. After all, what were the chances? The day after she arrives in Riften, a large, muscular man starts tailing her? Rather badly, but tailing her nonetheless. She had to admit, the Dark Brotherhood had to be more skilled than this. But they were dying out in Skyrim, so it was possible that they were this desperate, this concerned with revenge over stolen contracts…

"What…do you…want?" She said in between breaths. "If you're going to kill me, get it over with, would you?" Brynjolf laughed outright, bending over to rest his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Kill you? I want… to talk…to you… Not kill you." She was a paranoid one, wasn't she? Then again, he did follow her, a complete stranger. Brynjolf sighed, crossing his arms as his breaths became more regular. Once again, he'd managed to get himself into a bizarre situation.

Her eyes narrowed at him. He could tell that she didn't believe him, and as he took a step towards her, her stance changed into a defensive one. Brynjolf stopped in his tracks. "Don't come near me, not another step!" Freja yelled. It was more of a squeak. She'd never had to face off against a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and although she was skilled, he was probably better. To her surprise, he smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile. But then he took another step.

In less than six seconds, Freja had launched herself at him, knocking Brynjolf to the ground flat on his back and lodging her knees onto his elbows so he couldn't budge. With her left hand, she grasped his throat, and with her right hand, she pointed a small, silver dagger directly between his eyes.

"I said not another step. Now, you'll pay for that. Before I carve out your eyeballs, I need to know how I can disappear so that you and your kind never find me again." Her tone was serious, but her voice was shaking. She couldn't be talking about the Thieves' Guild, could she? What could they have done that was so bad as to make her want to hide from them? They were not killers.

Before he could respond, Brynjolf kicked his knees up to her back, shooting her forward over his head onto the stone street. He leapt up and threw his body weight onto her, knocking the dagger out of her grasp as he pinned her wrists to the ground. She thrashed wildly, trying to kick her thin legs from underneath him. Brynjolf shook his head, a look of amusement on his face.

"Whoever you think I am, I'm not. I don't want to kill you," he said more slowly this time.

"Then why did you follow me?" She half-whispered, her eyes wide.

Brynjolf wasn't quite sure how to approach this. His mind had turned to mince. What could he say? They both stood up and brushed themselves off while he thought of which angle to play.

"Because… you're running a little light in the pockets, lass." He said, tapping his forefinger to his chin. She was beautiful, that much was true, but he couldn't help noticing the state of her clothes. The quality of what she wore wasn't much better than what the vagabonds on the street wore each day. It looked as if she once had wealth, but had since run out. He was pleased to notice the look of shock on her face that she was attempting to hide—it told him that he was right. Hopefully this angle would work out and distract her from the facts. He wasn't sure how to explain that he followed her and got in a scuffle with her for no apparent reason.

"I'm sorry, what?" She muttered incredulously, the tone of her voice heightening in surprise.

"Your pockets," Brynjolf said, nodding at her, "they're a little low on coin, I can tell."

Freja shook her head slightly, somewhat impressed and at the same time confused by this burly stranger. Is this why he chased her through the streets? To make an assessment of her wealth? Well, the way the conversation was going, he didn't appear to be a member of the Dark Brotherhood, so she relaxed slightly at that fact. But what was he getting at, what could he want from her? Most men approached her because of her looks, were promptly insulted and even sometimes smacked across the face. But very rarely did they use this type of approach. If he was coming onto her, which they always did, she appreciated the originality of tackling her down in an alleyway.

"How could you possibly know that? And why in the name of Talos did you come after me like that?" She said, a bit more confidence in her voice. Brynjolf heard the change of her tone and took it as an opening. He carefully moved closer to her, circling her as he continued.

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass," Brynjolf growled in a low tone. He stopped behind her for a moment, leaning his face towards her ear. "The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway. You look like someone I could do business with. When you ran, I became curious. I apologize for unsettling you."

Freja turned her face toward his own. Anyone passing on the street would think them intimate acquaintances by how close they stood to one another. "My wealth is none of your business," she sneered. Her tone was chilly.

Brynjolf chuckled a little, lifting his fingers to her cheek to brush away some stray strands of hair. Freja flinched away from his touch, a bit surprised by his boldness—but not necessarily offended. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth is my business." Her ears perked up at this. Could he be one of the thieves she was hoping to find? "Maybe you'd like a taste?" Brynjolf whispered.

Her demeanor changed almost immediately, and she smiled at the proposition, turning fully to face him now. Offering him her hand, Freja gave him a dignified nod of formal greeting. "I'm Freja. What do you have in mind?"

Brynjolf took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Brynjolf. I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from the strongbox under his stand," he pointed at the closest market stall. "Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing. I'll pay handsomely for this."

Freja looked away from him for a moment. That was the name of the man she'd been looking for! _Brynjolf. How did I forget? This is too easy. _"The money's nice, but I don't know…" She said, feigning hesitation. She wanted to be sure of whom she was dealing with.

Brynjolf frowned at her doubt. "Look, I'll make this simple for you," he said softly, dropping his hands to his sides as he stepped closer to her. "The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften. I'll be in the market stalls all day, putting on my little show. Complete the task before sundown, then come find me beneath the city and we'll talk about your future. Otherwise, it was a pleasure to meet you, lass." Turning from her, he headed to the other side of the stalls to give a speech about some mystical potion he'd concocted from slaughterfish guts. He hoped she would come to the Ratway. It would be pleasing to discover his embarrassing tackle in the street wasn't in vain.

Freja turned, and when she was totally alone, she smiled widely. So he was a representative for the Thieves Guild, just the people she'd been looking for. Sighing deeply, Freja turned towards Madesi's market stall. This would be child's play.


	3. The Truth May Not Set You Free

**The Truth May Not Set You Free**

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Brynjolf hadn't slept well that night. He just kept imagining that he would be waiting for this woman who would never come. The next afternoon, he found himself daydreaming as he sat across from Vekel at the bar. He spoke with Dirge, trying to convince him of Freja's worth.

"I'm telling you," Brynjolf warned, an edge of annoyance in his voice, "this one is different."

Dirge laughed heartily. "We've all heard that one before, Bryn. What's so special about this one?" His voice was gravelly. Dirge was a young man with dirty blonde hair and a shaggy beard—a reliable thief and a good friend, but never the most clever. He was more useful as a battering ram than anything else. "Quit kidding yourself," he finished.

Vekel nodded, laughing as he dried a mead mug behind the wooden bar. "Yes Brynjolf, let me guess: she's beautiful—sweet, with a little bit of spice, for when you roll around on the bearskin." At this, Dirge and Vekel laughed heartily at their friend's expense. But he would not relent.

"Beautiful for sure. But she's more spice than sweet," he remarked, sipping his mead. "In fact, she reminds me of our little Vex, except meaner, and perhaps easier on the eyes, if possible," he said kindly. Vex was like a little sister to him: a little sister that could best him in almost any fight, and out-steal him in any situation. Both men looked at each other again and scoffed.

"You hear that, Vex?" Vekel called to her from across the bar. "Brynjolf said he's met a better version of you at the Bee and Barb. Do you buy it?"

A disembodied voice replied: "It's _not_ possible. Sorry, Bryn. Keep dreaming."

Brynjolf sighed, fearing that his friend might be right, until both Dirge and Vekel turned and stared beyond him, as if they'd seen a ghost. Brynjolf whirled immediately around. It was none other than Freja. She wore the same black cloak, with full black, leather armor hugging tightly to her petite frame. Brynjolf could not help but smile. He'd been able to prove everyone wrong. From the expression on her face, she'd caught a little of the conversation they'd been having just moments before. However, she seemed slightly amused.

"Well, color me impressed, lass! I wasn't certain I'd ever see you again," he chuckled as he stood up off his chair and approached her. Freja stood still, smirking with a warmth in her gaze, as if she was basking in the success of making it to the Ratway.

"Getting here was easy," Freja murmured, examining her cuticles with boredom, feigned or otherwise. Brynjolf shook his head at her haughtiness. It made him burn with annoyance and excitement.

"Reliable and headstrong? You're turning out to be quite the prize," he said, a mischievous look in his eyes. Vekel, Dirge and the others chuckled with pleasure, their eyebrows rising with surprise and intrigue. They'd been proven wrong, and they always enjoyed it. There was old Brynjolf again, chasing after the newest woman in the Ratway; on top of it, she seemed to be everything Brynjolf described and more.

He expected an eye roll from Freja—she was proving to be quite the contemptible fox—but noticed instead that her cheeks reddened with blush. Had he…flattered her? Was it even possible? He put his arm around her shoulders and led her away from the group, eager to fill her in on her new life with the Guild. He shot a look back at Vekel and Dirge, with Dirge giving him a thumbs-up and Vekel making some obscene gesture that Bryn couldn't quite make out.

* * *

They sat down at a table off to the side of the Cistern, and Bryn decided to get right down to business. "So, you made it. Forgive me for my boldness, lass, but I have to ask…although you don't exactly look the part, you seem to have the build and mind for thievery. And you don't seem easily shaken, which is important for this…erm, line of work," Brynjolf continued, leaning back into his wooden chair, taking the view of her in more fully. She sat pristinely in front of him, unmoving. "But I wonder. Why now? Why this place? Surely you could marry some nobleman and live in luxury. How could your fortunes be anything but golden? This is not usually a life people choose. It is a life they are forced to take on, for one sad circumstance or another. Do you understand what you're getting yourself into?" To him, Freja seemed like the epitome of a lady—beautiful and graceful—except she was also vastly smart, incredibly manipulative and seemed to know how to fight like a Companion of Whiterun. She was an enigma.

Freja rolled her eyes, and it made him chuckle. "Everyone assumes that I'm as delicate as some pathetic houseplant," Freja began. Brynjolf listened carefully. "Don't worry, I've got the sad circumstances. But that's only half of it… I'll let you in on a little secret, Mr. Brynjolf," she said delicately, leaning towards him. "I am no houseplant. I live for exhilaration." Freja's cheeks burned. Speaking about matters like this made her feel alive. "And I find it in thieving. I live for the thrill of lifting gold out of someone's pocket without them ever knowing. I was made for this life—not a life of security and routine."

Freja's voice trembled, almost as if with desire, and she paused for a moment. "I have tried to live with as much honor as I can while surviving alone in the wastes of Skyrim. I resent the idea of having to marry to take my 'place' in the world as someone's property. I am better than that," she said in a low tone, and Brynjolf could tell she meant it. His mouth went dry. He'd never seen a woman like her before. But was she really different from all the others he'd met in his life? _Probably not. But possibly better in bed than the last ones_, he thought insensitively.

"But I have to be honest with you, Brynjolf," she said in a low tone. This made his ears perk up.

"I come to the Thieves Guild because I would be an excellent asset, but I am also looking for protection from the Dark Brotherhood."

His eyes widened. So this is why she came to Riften—to hide from a mistake she'd made. Well, she wouldn't be the first to look for the Guild to solve it, or avoid it. For once, Brynjolf saw her fear. Or was she putting on a show to earn his trust and sympathy? Either way, she was good. Too good.

"I must tell you lass, if you were looking for solace from the Dark Brotherhood, you may not have found a better place. But before I say any more, I must know what you did to anger the children of Sithis," he said slowly, with caution.

"I… I did something very stupid," Freja began, looking uneasy for once. Brynjolf noticed the pink color disappearing in her cheeks, even though it was dark in the damp corridors of the Ratway. "I heard rumors of a young boy in Winterhold who committed the Black Sacrament. I was…curious," she began. Brynjolf laughed outright.

"Curious about the Black Sacrament? My, my, you have a certain taste for the macabre, don't you, lass?" he sighed in amusement, shaking his head at her. She nodded, slightly annoyed at his teasing.

"I posed as a member of the Brotherhood. He asked me to kill Grelod, the manager of Honorhall... I took the contract, without telling the boy that I had no intention of killing her. I figured I'd convince her to resign, and the trinket he gave me would be well-earned. But naturally, it was not that easy. She came after me with a knife, and my reaction was...swift."

Brynjolf just stared, waiting for her to finish.

"I put an arrow in her chest." Freja said finally.

Brynjolf nodded, frowning slightly as he took a swig of mead. "Lass," he said, just above a whisper, once he'd finished drinking. "You are one of us now, and no matter what, we will stand and fight for you. Luckily, that may not be a problem." She raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, but she dared not speak yet. "We have strong ties to the Dark Brotherhood, especially through Delvin Mallory, who you'll soon meet. He will get in contact with their sanctuary leader, Astrid, repay them for any money lost, and you will be safe. We have a deal with them; they are not to meddle in our affairs. That means you, now." He nodded towards her, eyeing her face as relief washed over it. Freja offered him a genuine smile.

"Brynjolf, how can I thank you?" she said softly, eyeing him with pleasure.

"Drink with me! Let's celebrate our newest recruit," he laughed.

They drank a few pints (at a certain point Brynjolf lost track), Brynjolf introduced Freja to her new associates, and explained what would be expected now that she was part of the Guild. He told her where she could acquire new armor, which hours were best to pickpocket nobles, who to avoid in the city (namely Maven Black-Briar) and other tips to help her feel at home. By the time they had nearly finished off half a barrel of mead, it was late, and most of the Guild had retired to bed.

"Will you be staying here, lass?" Brynjolf asked. "This can be your home now, if you'll have it. I suggest you take advantage of all that you can."

"I'm afraid not," Freja said softly. "My things are at the Bee and Barb."

Brynjolf nodded, a small pang of disappoint quickly shooting up in him. "Shall I walk you there?" He asked kindly. Freja laughed—not the reaction he expected.

"That won't be necessary," she replied with a smile. "I'll be fine by myself... I'm sure the Brotherhood doesn't know of my being here yet. And I can handle anything else that comes my way."_ Of course,_ Brynjolf thought. _Who am I kidding? She's as fierce as Potema herself._

Later that night, in bed, Freja had some difficulty sleeping. She stared up at the ceiling above her cot, thinking of Brynjolf's face, and the lines of age that began to appear near his eyes. He couldn't be a day over thirty, but Freja imagined the struggles of thieving in a place like Riften did not leave you without many scars. It was tiring for the body and the soul.

Freja blinked a few times, now looking out the window at the moon, which seemed uncommonly bright. There was something warm and alive about Brynjolf that she enjoyed. Still, this wasn't a time for thoughts like that, and she wouldn't be distracted by fleeting attractions. But it didn't mean she wouldn't think of him. His fiery hair, green eyes and able body. She rolled her eyes at own foolishness, but the image of him remained. With that thought alive in her mind, she closed her eyes and finally rested.

* * *

The days passed, and with them, more jobs. One such job required Freja to head to the outskirts of Whiterun to deal with a Nord named Sabjorn, the owner of Honningbrew Meadery. She was to help put him out of business so that Maven Blackbriar could move in for the kill. This was Freja's first big job, and every nerve ending in her body was humming with anticipation. She suited up in the Cistern of the Ragged Flagon and began to pack her belongings when Brynjolf appeared in his Guild armor.

"Do you have a job too, Brynjolf?" Freja asked idly, noticing that most of the Guild wasn't awake yet. He chuckled warmly.

"Oh no, lass. Didn't anyone tell you? We're doing this job together." Brynjolf folded his arms in front of him smugly. Freja rolled her eyes.

"You know, I may be new to the Guild, but I'm not new to thievery. I'd bet I'm better than some here," she said coldly. Brynjolf smiled with amusement, but didn't budge from the spot.

"Well that may be, but I'm still coming with you, lass. In case you didn't notice, I'm an important person in the Guild, and I have a lot to do with the important jobs we get. And this," he said slowly, "is important."

Freja nodded at him, not wanting to argue the point. The bigger the job, the more gold in her pocket. She wouldn't complain.

"Plus," he began, eyeing her up and down, "in a way, I'm your boss. You should be trying to impress me, lass." Brynjolf winked, Freja scoffed at him, and they were on their way.

* * *

The job went off without a hitch once they reached Whiterun (besides the crazed man in the caves who attacked them on sight.) To Brynjolf's pleasure, he and Freja posed as a recently married couple taking a tour of Skyrim, and Sabjorn gave them a tasting. They'd placed rat poison in the mead that one of the Legionnaires tasted, and that was the end of that. Watching Sabjorn being dragged off by the Legion was beautiful—and it meant Maven's happiness and continued loyalty and protection, things the Guild could not live without.

They had not gotten far across the countryside when Freja suddenly stopped. The sun had gone down not long before, and the night was beginning to darken except for the thousands of stars that dotted the sky. She and Brynjolf were heading up the road when a far off, screeching sound made Freja freeze in her tracks.

"What is it, lass?" Brynjolf asked quietly. He'd never seen her so still and focused. Freja didn't answer—her mouth hung open and she looked at the skies, her eyes as wide as the moon. "Freja?" he said again, but she hushed him swiftly. After a moment, she spoke.

"Did you hear that?" Her tone was severe.

"That howl? Yes, lass, but so what? I'm sure it's nothing." He chuckled. "Haven't you hear the rumors about the Companio—" Before Brynjolf could finish, Freja grabbed his arm and started tugging him along with urgency. Her mouth was a thin line of determination.

Pulling away from her slightly, Brynjolf grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face him. "What is it?" He whispered, staring into her eyes. The world around them had fallen silent, except for the wind and the various chirping bugs. Off in the distance, Whiterun stood proudly, with orange torch light spilling out over its tall walls. To the left of them sat the mountains, towering and quiet. Brynjolf waited. Another animalistic scream sounded off in the night, and Brynjolf could feel Freja tremble under his grasp. He thought he could make out words, but they were in a language he'd never heard of. She finally met his gaze.

"Okay, I'm not sure I know how to explain—" Glancing up beyond Brynjolf, Freja saw something that made her face go white. "We have to go, now!" She suddenly bellowed, and clutching his hand, Freja began running full force for the mountains, pulling Brynjolf along behind her. He tried to turn his head to see what all the fuss was about, but with Freja violently leading him by the arm, he could only manage to look for a few seconds before she changed direction and made him stumble. Out of nowhere, a loud crash exploded behind him, cracking and bubbling like some alchemical mixture gone wrong. Brynjolf was suddenly very cold, and Freja was obviously picking up the pace. Another blast of something shot right behind Brynjolf's feet, and he and Freja went flying forward, hitting the earth with a dull thud.

Brynjolf pushed himself up just in time to see Freja take a defensive stance in front of him. "Lass, don't stand in front of me like that, let me…." He didn't utter another word. Looking beyond her, a massive, greyish green dragon hovered above the ground, staring them both down. Brynjolf's first instinct was to get up, throw Freja over his shoulder and run for the thick of the forest, but looking at the ground they had just covered, blue ice littered the area. He was frozen with fear—nearly with ice, too. The dragon must have breathed it at them, and they barely made it this far alive. A panic was rising in Brynjolf's chest when suddenly a booming voice spoke out. It seemed to be coming from the dragon, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

"Bolog fah aaz, dovahkiin. Him kos sahlo. Him kos zaam. Koraav rahgol, koraav faaz." Freja cringed, every nerve in her body standing on end. How could this actually be happening now? If they even made it out alive, what would Brynjolf think? She heard the following: _beg for mercy, Dragonborn. You are weak. You are my slave. Feel wrath, feel pain_. She would have to either somehow bluff her way out of this one, or try fighting. Did the dragons even fear the one known as Dragonborn? They didn't seem to. But then again, from all that she'd heard and learned, being the Dragonborn was nothing to scoff at.

Brynjolf took a moment to process the sentences just spoken, but suddenly Freja yelled back at the dragon. Brynjolf's mind went blank. She was insane. Unless…

"Zol mul. Him zofaas, nuz daar zii los dovah." _I am stronger. You are to be feared, but my spirit is dragon._ Brynjolf could've sworn he'd seen the dragon smirk at Freja's apparent words, and it threw its head back, mouth open wide, taking a deep breath. He imagined it was preparing for one final crushing blast of ice. Brynjolf's mind fled to a million different places. He admired how brave Freja was, even if what she was doing made no sense. If he had the chance to live, he would've liked the opportunity to kiss her, because he imagined she'd be quite good at it. Delvin and Vex would take care of the Guild after he was gone. He did wish he'd made enough money to purchase that beautiful little house for his mother in Solitude, though.

A shrill scream erupted through the valley, and Brynjolf squeezed his eyes shut in the anticipation of death. "_Fus ro dah!_"

None came. Instead, Freja screamed dragon words that blasted from her mouth and knocked the creature straight out of the sky. Freja turned to Brynjolf, grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet in a moment's time. His brain barely had time to react, and he didn't see what became of the dragon, besides the fact that it was thrown through the air.

"Run for the woods—now!" She said, and they were off as fast as they could, before the dragon could properly retaliate.

One thought raced through Brynjolf's mind as he sprinted behind her: _this woman had more secrets than he realized._


	4. Family?

**Family?**

* * *

_Finally, I'm back, guys! Hope you had lovely holidays. This is a relatively short chapter, but it leads up to a rollercoaster ride of crazy events! I didn't want to make it too long, so look out for the next chapter coming soon. -Sass_

* * *

"You're…what?!" Brynjolf bellowed in Freja's direction. They had run until they were well hidden in the thick brush of the forest, and stopping to rest, Freja had tried to explain what was going on. Apparently, she was Dragonborn. _Dovahkiin_. Likely story. "I'm sorry lass, but… What?"

She half-sighed, half-gasped as she miserably tried to catch her breath. "It's really not that big of a deal, all right? I don't know how, but since some months ago I have known how to use this voice. I never realized it before, and once I did, I trained for a few weeks with the Greybeards before going on my merry way." She clutched at her own neck angrily, as if she wanted to rip out the part of her throat that gave her those powers. But it wasn't quite that simple.

_Did she really just say it's not that big of a deal? _Brynjolf thought. But he didn't dare interrupt her.

"I don't know why the dragons have returned. The first time I encountered a dragon…" She paused a moment, before continuing on. "Well, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I didn't choose this and I'm not some oddity to be gaped at or to be taken advantage of. So don't you dare treat me any differently. Because besides being able to cleave your head off with a meat knife from twenty feet away, I can shout you to pieces as well." Folding her arms, Freja leaned back against the tree trunk behind her and stared up at the tall, swaying branches overhead. The heaving in her chest began to slow.

Brynjolf almost wanted to laugh at the melodramatic threat she offered, but as he stared at her, he felt…pity. _Not a big deal? She's just been waltzing around, knowing she's the Dragonborn, for months?_ This was a strange story, one he never expected to hear. And this was too big a burden for any one person to bear. He approached her and cautiously wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She willingly gave in, breathing deeply into his chest.

"We need to move and you need rest; it's dark. There's an inn only a few miles from here, we'll make it there within the hour. Are you up to the task?" He asked, a look of reassurance in his eyes. She nodded, smiling weakly. _The fact that Brynjolf ignored everything I said is either very good or very bad_, she thought. But she didn't feel like contemplating which.

Brynjolf suddenly realized he knew very little about Freja. He knew she was a fierce warrior and a beautiful woman with a knack for thievery, but he never thought to question how she came to be the woman she was… What caused her to learn to defend herself so ferociously? What turned her to stealing? Who was she before she was the Freja of now? And what of this Dragonborn nonsense?

* * *

They arrived in only half an hour, and Brynjolf paid for the room himself, offering to give Freja the bed while he took the floor. The room was small, with a decently sized bed in the middle, a dresser, a table and two chairs, and a window on the end looking out into the black of the forest. Brynjolf bent down to untie his shoes while Freja looked out the window.

"I apologize if you don't wish to discuss it further lass, but I hope you understand the shock I feel right now. I will admit it was a difficult task processing the idea of you as Dragonborn…" He began, unknotting the ties of his boots. "Not that you being the Dragonborn is a strange idea. You're a very capable woman, lass, and if it wasn't all so wild, it actually would make some sense. I just meant that it's strange to know the Dragonborn at all." He paused for a moment as he sat on the bed, pulling his shoes from his feet and slowly lifting off his shirt. "You hear stories, but you never think you'll meet such a person... You're the one the bards sing songs about. Tougher than most men. And as beautiful as Dibella. Not that the beautiful part is necessary for being the Dragonborn…but…" Realizing he was rambling like a fool, Brynjolf stood and turned to look at her. His embarrassment burned when he realized that she was undressing too, and was in nothing but her undergarments. Turning to his left quickly, he blew out the candle that stood on the nightstand and faced away from her again. In the darkness, he heard a small laugh.

"Brynjolf, it's fine, really. I'm all done, and I'm getting into bed now." She said softly. He turned back around, sighing deeply. Freja had crawled into bed, the moon casting itself in shards across the blankets over her legs. Her very long legs. Smooth as butter.

"Right," he said quietly. "Me too." Lying down on the ground, Brynjolf struggled to relax in the makeshift bed he assembled on the floor. There was no comfortable position to be found, but even if there had been—he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen. Her body. And her shouting that dragon out of the air. So slender and strong, bathed in moonlight. And so dangerous, too. How many had she shared that secret with before Brynjolf? She'd hardly mentioned it again since they arrived at the inn. His mind jumped. He kept darting back and forth between the idea of her Dragonborn soul, and the image of her body, etched forever into his memory.

Either thought was interrupted by a whisper. "Brynjolf?"It was so quiet, he thought his own mind made it up. However, the second time, Brynjolf realized someone was calling out to him.

"Brynjolf? Are you asleep?" Freja asked.

"No. What's wrong, lass?"

"Come to bed," Freja whispered. "Lie down with me." Sighing in surprise mixed with confusion, Brynjolf slowly shifted and got up, standing next to Freja's bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to pretend as if he wasn't interested in sharing her bed. As if he might say no.

She stared at him in the darkness, an intense gleam in her eyes. She looked exhausted and troubled. "With everything that happened tonight….. I can't stop thinking. I just—" Before she could finish, Brynjolf pulled the sheets away and shushed her softly. Crawling into bed, Brynjolf pressed his chest against her back, so that they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. He wrapped his arms around her small frame and Freja grasped his arms, holding them tightly to her.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I just need a friend." Brynjolf felt warm. _So she was capable of being kind._ Even if he didn't just want to be called friend.

"And if you go off bragging to anyone about this," Freja continued, "I'll cut your balls off and hang them as a trophy." _Nevermind to the being kind thing._

He chuckled at that, squeezing her shoulder in compliance. Their closeness was intimate, and although Brynjolf could hear her breathing slow and become more even, he never felt more awake. More alive. It seemed like hours before his eyes became drowsy. He enjoyed the moments when he could feel her breath on his chest—when she curled up to face him, pressing her head beneath his chin. He tried not to put his hands on her, and instead focused on the sound of her breathing, until he, too, drifted off.

* * *

The next morning, Brynjolf rolled over to place an arm over Freja—but she was gone. Coming out of his groggy sleep, he noticed that she was standing by the window, suited up in her leather armor. Her white-blonde hair hung in a braid down her spine, and she stood unmoving.

"Good morning lass," Brynjolf murmured, sitting up.

"Morning, Brynjolf," she replied flatly. "We should get going as soon as we can."

Brynjolf sat silent for a few moments, wondering at her. She seemed…different. Closed off. Cold. Her demeanor had changed in the course of a night's rest.

"Forgive me, lass, but did I overstep my bounds by sharing the bed with you last night?" Brynjolf asked bravely, pulling his shirt over his head. His body was thick and strong, and riddled with scars from jobs gone wrong, scuffles with burglary victims as well as cuckold husbands. Freja didn't dare look at him. "Because as I recall, you asked me to."

Freja sighed softly. She didn't want to be distracted by him when she was trying to figure out how to proceed. After what Brynjolf saw of her Dragonborn abilities the night before, she knew she would have to be on her guard. She trusted Brynjolf more than most…but trust always had a limit. It had to, for the purpose of safety. And this was too big to trust with any one person. It had taken her a night's sleep to regain her senses.

Freja shook her head in the negative, but she didn't make a sound. Sighing, Brynjolf walked around the bed towards her and put his hands on either side of her face. She didn't resist. Her pale eyes seemed empty.

"What is the matter, lass?"

Freja avoided his gaze, even though he held her face in place, mere inches from his. "I don't like feeling vulnerable." Her tone was low and quiet.

"Oh, is that all?" He said with a chuckle. "You don't trust me with your secrets," Brynjolf retorted, an air of amusement in his voice. It didn't offend him, but he wanted to understand. He felt as if he'd finally broken through to the true part of her, but as soon as she'd let down her guard, she forced it back up again, becoming the untouchable ice queen he'd first met. He knew she trusted him, looked to him as a guide and a mentor these last weeks. As far as he understood, Brynjolf was the closest thing Freja had to family or friendship. He ran his thumb along the line of her chin.

"All I have are my secrets." Freja said softly, finally meeting his eye. To her surprise, Brynjolf chuckled again, irritating her slightly. "I showed you the darkest part of myself and I regret it," she continued hastily, pulling away from him so that he was no longer touching her face. "The sum of my experiences has taught me that I must rely on myself alone—especially when there are things about me that no one should know. I'm sorry I was in a fragile state last night, but I promise you it won't happen again." She sighed. "If there is one thing I've learned, it's that the quickest way to disappointment is to rely on others. And now you know the one thing about me that I've been trying to hide for months. The one thing that Skyrim would exploit me for…my voice." Freja faced the window. She didn't want to look at him anymore.

"The darkest part? Lass, you've shown me one of the greatest parts of yourself—it's no curse. The sum of your experiences has been vastly different from mine, I suppose," Brynjolf said, crossing his arms as he faced the window, too. "I have learned that what matters most is family, lass. I don't mean blood," he said before pausing for a moment, reflecting on some unspoken memory. "Blood can often be the most disappointing. I mean the type of family you earn, lass. No, we are not friends. Because you have chosen the Guild as your family, which is something much more than that."

He turned his eyes on her, gazing intently as he continued. "You sought us out—sought me out. So I am your family now. And you can trust me with your life, your secrets, your every fiber and word and pain and pleasure. Those things that make up the whole of you and what you are to become, you can entrust it all to me. I suppose your aversion to intimacy comes from the fact that you've never been presented with a bond so deep as what the Guild can offer. But that will change, if you allow it to be so."

"An aversion to intimacy?!" She exclaimed as she turned in his direction, offended. "I—"

"He shook his head. "I don't mean _that_ type of intimacy, lass," he said with a grin on his face. "I mean sharing something with another living soul, for Mara's sake. Unabashedly and without fear."

A silence stretched between them. Freja didn't budge. "Let me even the playing field then, lass, since you don't seem quite convinced. I am an orphan, found on the steps of Honorhall at the age of seven, the same place where you liberated so many children from that hagraven of a manager. My mother had not one ounce of love for me in her body—or so I'm told. Had me out of wedlock and abandoned me in Rorikstead as a baby. I lived as a little vagabond child there until I was shipped to Honorhall. The Guild saw potential in me at a young age—I could pickpocket anyone—and took me in. The only man I ever knew as a father, a man named Gallus, was brutally murdered by the only woman I'd known as mother. And then she disappeared." He paused, thinking back on those days. "There, now you know every sad detail. I may not have a voice to shake the whole of Tamriel, but this is who I am."

More silence.

"And the Guild has always stood by me. No matter the married maidens I've taken to bed, the brawls I've caused or the deception I've reveled in, the Guild has stood by me. It hasn't eliminated my pain, but it's helped me push it into deep places—places I don't venture to anymore. You think you're the only one who's ever felt this? The Guild shows you a different way, lass. It will never leave, never disappear. And that is the lesson you must learn if you want to truly accomplish anything. You must place your trust in the Guild." With that, Brynjolf grabbed the rest of his gear and headed downstairs. If she followed, he would know what she thought. If not, then this was the end of their partnership.


	5. The Big One

**The Big One**

* * *

_**Hello, friends. I'm sorry it's been so long! It's been a hectic few weeks, but I hope to be more attentive. Also, for those of you who read The Dragon Among the Wolves, know that I haven't forgotten you and hope to have the final installment up this weekend! -Sass**_

* * *

Brynjolf had risen early to see Freja. It had been a few weeks since the incident near Whiterun, and ever since that day, she had proven a great asset to the Guild. After their discussion that night, Brynjolf noticed a marked change in her. She was lighter, and more open. There was less artificiality and darkness in her demeanor, and when she laughed, it was hearty and true. Brynjolf admired the change in Freja, and they had grown close. Brynjolf was glad to have someone else to call friend in the Guild, while Freja was just pleased to finally trust for once. He had sworn never to speak of her…gift again, unless she spoke of it first.

Mercer wanted to meet her, and as cranky as he had been lately, Brynjolf didn't want to make him wait. Plus, he had a big job for the both of them, and Brynjolf wanted to get it started. Heading over to the Bee and Barb, he walked up the stairs quickly, trying to avoid the gaze of Keerava, the keeper of the inn. He'd swindled her last week out of two cases of Firebrand Whiskey, and she told him that she'd have him thrown out if she ever saw him again. He'd have to find a way to make it up to her.

Knocking on Freja's door, he waited. There wasn't a sound from inside. _What's she doing in there? Sleeping still?_ His fingers itched, and he knew he couldn't stop himself. Pulling a lockpick from his pocket, Brynjolf swiftly and effortlessly unlocked her door the old-fashioned way. Pushing the door open, he glanced inside the tiny room.

The bed was just under the window across the room, and Freja was still sleeping peacefully. Her back was to Brynjolf. There was a small, wooden chair near the door he had just entered through, and he decided to sit and admire her for a few more minutes before they had to go; he would take such pleasure in surprising her when she woke. Suddenly, however, it was he who was startled by the sound of her cool, clear voice.

"So, how long did you plan on sitting there, watching me and feeling pleased with yourself for breaking in?" She asked, giggling softly, her voice heavy with sleep. Brynjolf's eyes widened. "A child could've picked that lock."

"How long were you awake?" He questioned, embarrassment in his voice. She sighed with contentment, rolling over to face him, her hair a mess. Her hand sat firmly on her chest to hold the thin blanket up around her. Upon closer inspection, Brynjolf's eyes widened. Was she...naked?

"I've been awake for half an hour. I'm a slow mover," Freja murmured, sitting up. "I would've gotten up earlier if I knew to expect company."

Brynjolf rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that often gave him away as feeling sheepish. He looked back down at the floor again. "Ah, I'm sorry lass. I just couldn't resist. Locked doors are too tempting for me. Plus, you've got to meet Mercer today. He has a job for the both of us, and I didn't want to take too long getting to him." Freja nodded, half-listening. She ran her hand through her hair.

"Right, right. Well, I don't mind. I'll just ready myself," she said with a yawn. Brynjolf nodded curtly and began to stand up when Freja stood too, dropping the sheet and revealing herself. Brynjolf's eyes widened eagerly. _Oh yes, she was naked. _Freja barely seemed to notice as she quickly walked over to the chest of drawers, only stopping when she saw his stunned expression. Freja scoffed at him as tried not to stare at the curve of her rump and the whiteness of her skin.

"What?" She said with annoyance.

"Are you trying to give me heart attack, woman? It's ten in the morning, for the Nine's sake." He turned immediately on his heel, facing the nearest wall. She continued talking at Bryn, but he almost didn't hear. He ground his teeth at the thought of touching her. _Calm yourself, laddie. Get it together. She's doing this on purpose to torture you. _Freja never stopped trying to vex him, or make him feel foolish.

"On warm nights I prefer to sleep in the nude, if you must know. Either I can stop doing that or you can start knocking," she teased. He could hear her delving around in her drawers. "You should try it sometime." Pausing, she laughed again. "Judging by how shocked you are, you're either a man of more propriety than I thought, or you've slept with less women than you say. I'm done, you can turn around now."

He did, and thankfully saw her clothed in full, tight, black leather armor. Freja's hair was wrestled into a braid that hung long down her chest, and she looked more like herself. In a few moments, they were off. Brynjolf was glad; he needed some fresh air.

* * *

As they entered the Cistern side by side, Freja took in a big gulp of air. She was nervous; so far, she hadn't liked what she'd heard of Mercer Frey. With Brynjolf by her side, she felt more at ease. Now there was a man she could get used to having around. His friendship had become invaluable to her these last weeks.

As they approached, she caught sight of Mercer, and her fear was dispelled slightly. He wasn't a very imposing man. His hair had begun greying, and his face seemed weathered in a constant frown. It made Freja want to smile. He seemed like an exaggerated picture of a man who was frequently unpleasant.

"Mercer, this is the one I was telling you about," Brynjolf said brightly, crossing his arms and nodding towards Freja. "Our newest recruit, though she's done great work for us the last month or so."

Mercer leaned against the desk in front of him with his wiry arms spread wide apart, but he didn't give her his attention yet. For a moment, Freja wondered if he'd even heard Brynjolf in the first place. _Arrogant pig, _Freja thought. After a minute, he looked up. Freja bit back a cheeky introduction; something about this man told her to play it cool. Instead, she held out her hand to shake with his. She should have known he'd ignore that, too. Mercer stared at the gesture, and then spoke. Freja let her hand drop stupidly to her side.

"This better not be another waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf." His voice cut through the thick air of the Cistern like a knife. He stood up fully now, and Freja noticed that he was not tall, either. Neither thick nor tall, and yet somehow still able to inspire fear in others. What was it about him? Perhaps something in his sharp, tenored voice.

"Before we continue I want to make one thing perfectly clear. Play by the rules, and you walk away rich," he said, his eyes flashing as he looked Freja up and down. This Mercer made her skin crawl, and she wanted the conversation to be done immediately. Still, she waited.

"Break the rules, and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions. Do I make myself clear?" He spit the last sentence through gritted teeth, instead of speaking like a normal human. Freja was irritated, and it surprised her. Most people didn't get under her skin so easily. Could Mercer sense the disobedience brewing in her chest? She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes," Freja offered, as smoothly as ice, "I understand." She met Mercer's eyes and did not relent. It made him smile, but the smile was cold, colder and emptier than the frown he had offered minutes before.

"Good, then I think it's time we put your expertise to the test." He said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Wait a minute," Brynjolf said with a note of hesitation in his voice. "We're not talking about Goldenglow, are we? Even our little Vex couldn't get in," he said softly. Mercer was crazy to even suggest this job for Freja. She had barely done anything for the Guild yet. Brynjolf believed in her abilities, but to send her to Goldenglow? It was too risky. He expected a numbers job for their next outing together, or even a small scale robbery. The new recruits usually began slowly. But Goldenglow?

"You claim this recruit has an aptitude for our line of work. So, let her prove it." Mercer said softly.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying—" Brynjolf cut in angrily, but Mercer kept going.

"You don't want to continue with that line of thought, Bryn. Remember who is in charge here." His eyes flashed with rage, but in a moment, the look was gone, and he continued. "Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients," Mercer said in a matter-of-fact tone. "However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf can provide you the rest of the details, as he'll be accompanying you." Mercer looked up at Brynjolf and Freja, and the hardness of his gaze signaled that the conversation was over. Brynjolf was ready to argue the subject of Freja's preparation further, but he decided against it. After all, they would be together.

"Mercer, aren't you forgetting something?" Brynjolf said quickly. Freja glanced over at him with curiosity, wondering what else there was to discuss. She looked from his greenish eyes to the straight line of his nose, his lips, chin, and wide chest. He looked as strong as an ox, standing well over six feet tall, with that shaggy mane of red, Nordic hair. He was quick as a shot and a smooth talker, to boot. How was Mercer the guildmaster over him? Quickly, she snapped back to attention at the sound of Mercer's nasally drawl.

"Brynjolf assures me that you'll be nothing but a benefit to us. Welcome." Freja noted the immense effort it took Mercer to say those words. In the future, she would remember to avoid him. Brynjolf quickly put his hand on the small of her back and led her away from Mercer. She leaned her head up towards him intimately and whispered, "He's incredibly unfriendly, and that is an understatement."

Brynjolf smiled wickedly at her observation, nodded, and brought her towards the wooden ladder that led up to the false tomb. "Let's go for a walk," he offered innocently. "We have much to discuss."

By the time they had gotten down to the discussion of the actual job, they were outside the city walls and standing on the edge of the lake that surrounded Riften. After a moment, Brynjolf took Freja's arm and turned her in the direction of a tiny island in the middle of the lake. What stood there was difficult to discern. Pointing, he explained. "Goldenglow is a bee farm; they raise the wretched little things for money. We need to teach the owner, Aringoth, a lesson by burning down three of the estates hives and clearing out the safe in the main house. I've helped plan this job, but I didn't know for sure whether I was going with you. Until now, that is. I'm glad I can be of assistance, lass."

"What's the catch?" She questioned with sincere interest; it didn't sound terribly difficult.

"The catch?" Brynjolf chuckled. How was she always so smart? "We can't burn the whole place to the ground. That important client Mercer mentioned would be furious if we did."

"What's so important about this client?" She questioned. There was still so much she didn't understand.

Brynjolf smiled warmly at her inquisitiveness. "The Guild depends on an arrangement of influential people to keep things running smoothly. Without them at our backs, we'd have serious trouble. But enough about that, lass. Go back to the Bee and Barb, get some food in your belly, and prepare to meet me back here at nine tonight. We're going for a swim." Bowing slightly, Brynjolf winked. "Until tonight, lass." Freja nodded at him curtly and turned back in the direction of Goldenglow, gazing out at her newest adventure. She was ready for some excitement.

* * *

Brynjolf had only waited for Freja an extra ten minutes past nine. Freja was so jittery that Brynjolf wondered if maybe all the stories she'd told about her thieving past were fake. But, as they descended into the water towards Goldenglow, she proved herself as great a thief as any that had made a name for themselves within the Guild. Her moves were smart and her stealth was unmatched. They slipped in through a sewer, knocking out the bandits that had taken up residence or the guards that were patrolling. For having to take out five or six men, she'd held her own remarkably well. Each time, she used stealth to her advantage, utilizing the shadows to take down men twice her size and strength.

She'd easily broken into Aringoth's safe that was located in the basement of the house, taking all its contents and carefully putting them in a tightly-latched purse, which she then put in a satchel. Waterproof, he imagined. She was nothing if not creative. Freja stopped to examine a letter, and it gave her pause.

"Brynjolf," she said quietly, "take a look at this." Freja handed him a white, tidy piece of paper which outlined an apparent Bill of Sale. Brynjolf stopped breathing for a moment… The selling of Goldenglow Estate? Under Maven's nose? Impossible. Turning the page over hastily, he was frustrated but not surprised to find a lack of any sort of signature. Reading it over again quickly, the only name of interest he picked out was that of Gajul-Ei—the alias of one Argonian, Gulum-Ei. But before he could think on the matter further, Freja snatched the paper from his hands, folded it and put it away.

"Hey, wait a second, lass!" Brynjolf snapped in a whisper. "Why—"

Freja grabbed his hand, and with her own free one, cupped his mouth. "Are you suddenly deaf, or do you not hear the watchmen coming?" She whispered severely. "We need to get out of here and burn those bee hives—fast."

This would be the hard part. Still holding his hand, Freja pulled Brynolf along in a frenzied game of cat-and-mouse, narrowly avoiding the hired thugs in one hallway, only to nearly step on them when heading down another. As they crept up to the main floor, Freja suddenly pushed Brynjolf to the right, causing him to stumble and nearly fall.

"Lass, for the love of—" He began to whisper harshly, but then she smiled widely.

"You almost hit that trip wire, there." She pointed. Brynjolf was amazed—in the dim light of the house, he could hardly see where she was pointing. It was amazing she even noticed. "It would have caused a lot of ruckus and at least ten marauders would have come running for us. You're welcome."

He laughed at her haughtiness. "Well, thank you lass. How did you even see that?"

Freja rolled her eyes. "I've never tripped a wire, snagged myself in a trap or fell for a rigged treasure chest in all my years. I'm too good, Bryn. You should know that by now." He scoffed quietly at her, before continuing on, with her behind him.

After fifteen minutes, the two of them managed to slip out the front door of the house into the darkness of the night. Of all doors, it was amusing that the most important door was the one least guarded. A sense of relief washed over the both of them, but the relief was short-lived; tension was mounting with anticipation of the next leg of their mission, and they had to light the hives before they were seen. Once they did, their escape would have to be quick. The two of them fell away into the shadows, heading off towards their final destination.

They rounded on the bee hives, which stood atop a high cliff on the edge of the island. The cliff facing Riften was surrounded by tall, wooden fencing, and the hives themselves stood in a long, curved row only a few feet from the fence. Brynjolf stopped at the hives on the left, signaling to Freja to burn the three on the end. She nodded, he stood back, and lit a match for each. Then, taking a deep breath, she threw each one; the hives lit up like fireworks, one after the other.

Brynjolf waited to see if they would catch completely, as they needed to. "Excellent lass. Now, we don't have much time..." He said. Waiting for her to say something, Brynjolf turned, suddenly realizing that Freja was gone. Turning around, he felt panic wash over him. Had she run off already? Or had someone snagged her? Brynjolf turned on his heel to run, his eyes looking wildly in every direction. The fires were growing bigger, casting all sorts of shadows every way he looked, distorting his vision to the point that it was difficult to see at all. They had minutes before the thugs arrived, and he didn't have time to contemplate all the possibilities of where she had gone amidst all the fire and smoke.

Doing a job with two people always made Brynjolf feel so vulnerable, and he cursed himself for agreeing to it with Mercer beforehand, when Freja hastily emerged from the shadows, putting her dagger back in its sheath. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Freja pressed herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. Bryn was completely dumbfounded.

"Lass, I don't think now is the time…"

"They're going to be surrounding us on all sides—except one," Freja whispered delicately, a smug smile on her rosy lips. All Brynjolf could do was nod, even though he didn't understand her meaning. That affirmation seemed to be what she needed, however, and she delicately led his hands around her small waist before wrapping her arms back around his neck.

"On the count of three, pick me up, hold on tight, and right straight into the wood fencing," she whispered, turning her head to motion towards the dark fencing that stood eight feet behind them, separating the edge of the island from the lake below. Brynjolf blinked in disbelief.

"You want me to run straight into the fence?"

"Yes!"

"Holding you in front of me like a human shield?" He whispered again, emotionless. Freja nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, directly behind me! See, I—" She started to explain, when their conversation was halted by the sound of angry voices closing in. Her eyes pleaded with him. "No time, just do it!"

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. He trusted the stubborn lass. Lowering his head into Freja's shoulder, he tightened his grip on her waist, lifted her slightly off of the ground, and began charging full force into the fence. She burrowed her head into his chest, holding on for dear life. At impact, he imagined they would go bouncing back like idiots towards the burning hives.

Yet instead, under their weight, the fencing splintered and broke away. Suddenly he and Freja were tumbling through the air, until they collided with the cool, shocking water of the lake.

After a few moments, both came up for air. Treading water, they locked eyes, laughing hysterically. "We've done it!" Freja said excitedly. But the celebration was short lived as they heard more angry voices floating from the island. Nodding at each other, they began swimming for dear life. The night was still young.


	6. Just When Things Were Getting Good

**Just When Things Were Getting Good**

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_Enjoy the next chapter, friends! -Sass_

* * *

As soon as they were underneath the surface one again, Freja and Brynjolf began swimming madly for the northwest shore off the water—the part that was most secluded. Coming up for air again, they stopped to catch their breath and turned back around to admire the damage they had done as they tread. The hives were ablaze by now, and they had swum far enough to just make out the sounds of the angry marauders who would find nothing but a section of broken fence and some very angry bees. Turning in the water towards each other, Brynjolf and Freja smiled again. After a moment's rest, they continued on to the shore they were headed for.

In twenty minutes' time, they had arrived on the beach, which was covered in pine trees. They littered the ground with needles, making it soft, and Brynjolf and Freja both collapsed happily onto it. With the warm sand and fresh pine needles on their backs, they chuckled heartily, fighting to catch their breaths.

"I could've sworn...Mercer was trying...to sabotage us somehow..." Brynjolf managed between breaths, looking over at Freja."But I guess he knew...we could do it together. He believed in us, and I didn't."

Freja rolled her eyes. "I suppose you could see it that way..." It was amazing how much faith Bryn had in the world, even if that faith was blind.

After a few moments, she began stripping off her armor, piece by piece. She kept her boots and greaves, but tossed her soaked cuirass in the water, along with her gauntlets. On top, she wore a thin, sleeveless shirt, and she stretched her arms above her head, feeling less weighed down. Brynjolf stared at her in mild confusion.

"What in nirn are you doing?" He questioned as she wrung out her long hair, pulling it from its braid. The wetness made it heavier and fall loosely around her shoulders. Freja smiled down at Brynjolf as he lay, staring up at the stars that dotted the midnight sky with his hands folded behind his head.

"It's time I received my official armor from Tonilia. I'm bored of that junk," she said coolly. "Less to carry."

They both went silent for a few moments, with Freja crossing her arms and staring out across the lake in a serious manner, and Brynjolf enjoying the beauty of the stars. They were actually quite pretty. Brynjolf sat up quickly.

"Well, lass, I suppose it's time." He said, beginning to stand up. Freja turned towards him, shaking her head.

"We can't stay just a few more moments?" Walking over towards him, she sat down in the sand near him and smiled. "We deserve it."

He nodded. "I won't say no to you, not when we've just pulled of one of the biggest jobs around. It was brilliant what you did at the end, cutting the fence. You thought of that so quickly just for our escape?"

Freja chuckled, nodding. "The confusion on your face when I explained was so amusing. As soon as the hives caught, I went to the fence and started shoving my dagger in it. I don't think we would have made it out easily another way with all the security." She was so proud. It was a pretty brilliant idea, he had to admit.

"I do agree, lass," he said gently, turning his head towards her. The moon was bright enough to cast a dim, white light in her eyes and make her skin glow. Freja stared back at him patiently.

He cleared his throat anxiously. She looked...like she was waiting for something. _Waiting for him?_ "Freja..." Brynjolf finally said, staring at the sandy ground.

"Hm?" Freja said softly, still looking at him.

"I think..." He paused, stumbling over his words. "Forgive me if I'm wrong lass, but I have to say something."

"Okay..." She muttered quietly.

"You and I, these past weeks and months, have become...close. But..."

"Yes?"

"Well, I... I hope... Um..."

Freja rolled her eyes finally. "Would you just kiss me already?"

After a beat, both she and Bryn started laughing wildly at the bluntness of her statement and the bumbling of his words. But as their laughter died away, they were back in the same spot as before, the moment filled with confused longing. As they stared into each other's eyes, Brynjolf took a deep breath, strengthening his resolve. Leaning towards her, he carefully ran his fingers down her cheek and neck.

"As you wish, lass." Brynjolf tilted his head slightly towards her, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, and their lips touched with the lightness of a feather. Brynjolf turned towards her, grabbing her shoulder as he felt her lips parting in passion.

Their tongues danced, and Freja quickly threw her leg over Brynjolf's waist, maneuvering herself so that her hips were sitting on top of his groin, straddling him. The weight of her made him tense up wildly, and he pulled away from the kiss, a look of surprise on his face. Freja sat up straight on top of him, laughing heartily as she tossed her blonde hair out of her face and down her back.

"I'm sorry, too much for you?" Freja teased, wiggling her hips into his pelvis. He inhaled sharply at the feeling of her so suddenly pressed against him, and sat up towards her so that they were facing each other, her legs straddled apart against his waist. A smirk blossomed on his lips.

"You are trouble, aren't you, lass," Brynjolf said in a low growl. Delicately, he twined the fingers of his left hand into her white-blonde hair, pulling the strands back to open up her neck to unguarded attack. Unhurriedly, Brynjolf planted kisses there, going lower each time he heard her sigh in approval. Resting his right hand on her arm, he suddenly stopped, feeling a warm, sticky substance coating the area just below her shoulder.

"Freja…you're bleeding," he said seriously, the intimacy of the moment fading away. It seemed to be a decent amount of blood. She laughed with amusement, shaking her head at herself.

"Am I?" She asked. Freja spoke with small concern. "I was trying to ignore it."

Brynjolf scoffed at the nonchalance, amazed. Standing up, he scooped her into his arms gingerly. Maybe that dreaminess in her tone was a result of the blood loss.

"Well, why didn't you say something, lass? We should have left ten minutes ago," Brynjolf chided. She shrugged her shoulders simply, latching her arms around his neck.

"Well," she said quietly, "I was having a good time." Their eyes met, and they shared a private smile. He rolled his eyes at her foolishness, but beneath that, he was deeply pleased.

* * *

Back at the Ratway, Brynjolf tended to Freja's arm. He sat her on the bar and grabbed a dark-colored bottle from behind and a white cloth. The Ratway was deserted—it must have been later than Brynjolf anticipated.

"What is—" Freja began to question the contents of the bottle when Brynjolf dabbed some of it on her wound with the cloth, and she groaned.

"Argh!" She said angrily. "What is that!?"

"I'm cleaning your wound with alcohol. Rum, to be precise." Pressing the white cloth to the wound, he slowly dabbed away the blood until just the wound itself was visible. Freja took a long, hard swig of the rum.

"If I'm to properly dress your wound, lass, you're going to have to take off your shirt," he said. Freja smiled.

"You want me bare that badly, do you?" She quipped. Brynjolf smiled anxiously, shaking his head. He had never felt such a bond with a woman he wanted to bed, and it made him anxious, as if he cared about what Freja thought. Most of the women he bedded, he barely remembered their names.

"Lass, if I wanted you bare for my own purposes, I would have used a more romantic method than that," he said softly. There, that was the Brynjolf he was familiar with. Smooth. Why was he nervous? Freja slowly lifted her shirt up over her head, revealing herself as Brynjolf took a gulp of air. Then, he delicately wrapped her arm, pulling the cloth up over her opposite shoulder, just below her neck.

"And, now you're done," he said. "You actually did lose a decent amount of blood." Brynjolf didn't remove his hands from her hips, and stared into her eyes as he spoke. "Shall I walk you home?"

"No," she said quietly. "I'd like to stay here. I have anything of importance from my room at the Barb."

Brynjolf nodded. Before she could jump down from the bar, he scooped Freja into his arms and carried her back towards the Cistern, where the beds were. Her head ached and swam. Bryn was right—she had lost more blood than she realized. Freja could tell it wasn't too serious, but she would need some rest.

Walking through the Cistern, Freja waited to be set down on one of the cots, but Brynjolf kept going, and eventually pushed through a heavy, wooden door.

"Where are you taking me?" Freja demanded, a smile playing on her lips.

"We've already shared a bed once, lass. Why not again?" Brynjolf said in a mischievous tone. Freja shook her head, her stomach filling immediately with butterflies.

"Brynjolf…we both need rest, and I—" Before she could finish, he slowly set her down. The room was decorated with maps, paintings, rugs and bookshelves. It was probably one of the most pleasant rooms in the Ratway—at least Freja assumed this, since most of the Ratway was dank, wet and smelly. She wondered how many women had seen this room. Brynjolf had mentioned his romantic history before, and it sounded extensive. But then again, why did Freja care about that? Only today, she'd told herself that their flirtation could continue as long as it didn't affect their work.

"Come, lass," Brynjolf said as he slid his armor off and his shirt over his head. He sat on the edge of the crimson-blanketed bed. "I have only the noblest intentions." Freja laughed shortly, but then hesitation filled her stomach.

"Freja…" Brynjolf's voice was suddenly quite serious, and he stared at the floor in front of him as he sat on the bed.

"Hm?" She asked softly. Freja approached the bed and sat down slowly next to him. She held her hands in her lap, staring at them. Nothing in the world could shake her…nothing but this.

"Surely you must know, lass… I care for you." He uttered slowly. Freja remained silent. "In this Guild, one can't help building bonds. I trust you with my life, but…it's more than that. After all our time together… You must feel it too."

Freja shifted on the bed, turning to face him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she said with a small smile. "I do." Leaning forward, she pressed her lips carefully to his.

"Good, lass." Brynjolf said after a moment, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "Let's get some shut-eye now, hm?"

* * *

The next morning, Freja woke up alone and feeling well-rested, for more than one reason. For one, she and Brynjolf had pulled off the Goldenglow deal without as much as a single hiccup. Secondly, well… She and Brynjolf had finally been honest with one another about their feelings. And it was something she welcomed. She'd never met someone like him.

Rising, she quickly threw back on her underclothes, greaves, boots and shirt, and wandered into the cistern to look for Brynjolf. Her hair was a mess of long, blonde waves down her back, but she didn't care. Feeling invigorated, she was ready to go back to Mercer and figure out their next task. She and Brynjolf had grown to become quite the team, working together.

Walking into the Ragged Flagon area, she sat at the bar, hoping to get some warm mead and bread for breakfast while she waited for Brynjolf. He was never far away. Vekel slammed the food and drink on the bar, smiling at her.

"Heard about Goldenglow this morning," he said, his dark eyes shining. "Sounds like things went…swimmingly." Freja shot him a smile, something she wasn't used to giving out freely. "Looks like the Guild's luck is looking up, thanks to you and Bryn, of course. Heard Mercer wants to see you already, has something else to discuss."

"Thanks, Vekel," Freja replied.

"In fact? I'll go see if Mercer's busy now. You're gonna want to hear what he has to say." As he left for the Cistern, she ate her breakfast, wondering what Mercer had in store next for her and Bryn. She'd finally found her place, it seemed. And she was beginning to earn respect for it.

Suddenly, the door leading from the Cistern to the Flagon slammed open, with Dirge following behind Tonilia. They were bickering quietly, trying to keep their voices down. Freja didn't look up, pretending to be fascinated with a stale piece of bread, but she could still hear bits and pieces of the conversation as they walked by her.

"…you shouldn't cheat on Vekel. He's a good guy," Dirge said, his low voice sounding gravelly. Tonilia scoffed at him.

"What are you talking about?"

Freja's ears perked up. "Come on, everyone knows about you and Brynjolf," Dirge said in a low, gravelly tone. Freja stopped breathing for a moment. _What?_

"Well, everyone's wrong. Now why don't you just shut up about it? I'm going to the training room to work on armor, and if you follow me, Nine help you, I'll gouge your eyes out."

With that, Tonilia stormed off from where she came, leaving Dirge mumbling angrily to himself. Suddenly, Freja didn't feel hungry anymore. She was curious, and although she wouldn't admit it to herself, a little angry. Could this be true? Thinking of Brynjolf, someone she considered a dear friend, a colleague, and perhaps a lover… Did it make sense that he would act this way? He always seemed so genuine. Getting up silently, she walked to the Cistern after Tonilia. _I'll just discreetly ask her what's going on, woman to woman. No one knows about Bryn and me yet._ She pretended that it wasn't important to her...but something in her chest told her otherwise. And she had to know if this was true. She didn't like being made a fool of.

Walking into the Cistern, Freja slowly made her way to the training room, a room she hadn't taken proper advantage of. Pushing on the heavy wooden door, she leaned her head inside.

Freja's eyes widened as she saw Tonilia and Brynjolf together. "Dirge just asked me about us," Tonilia purred, walking towards Brynjolf across the room as he slowly backed away from her.

"What 'us?'" Bryn questioned.

"Oh, please, Brynjolf, don't act so coy with me. This isn't our first time." Tonilia threw her arms around Brynjolf's neck, and Freja cleared her throat loudly, not wanting to see another moment. At the sound, Tonilia jumped away from Bryn, and a look of horror emerged on his face.

For some reason, all she could do was smile. "Pardon me," she said icily. _He and I were only together a night. I was such a fool to think I was different…shame on me. He probably uses those lines on everyone._

"Freja, wait, stop—" Brynjolf said urgently, but Freja had already slammed the door behind her and headed for the ladder exit that would lead her up to the false tomb. She had to get some air. Knocking her shoulder into Vekel on accident, she didn't even mumble an apology as he called after her.

"Mercer's not here, he's at his estate! See him there," he said, a little agitated at their collision. Freja didn't bother answering; she just needed to get out.

Freja had barely made it up the ladder to the false tomb when Brynjolf popped out behind her, just as she was about to pull the chain and open the door to the world above.

"Freja, wait, stop!" He said pleadingly. Freja chuckled at the sound of his desperation.

"Brynjolf, please, don't embarrass yourself," she said in a cold, whispery tone. "What you do on your time is your own business. I would suggest not pursuing more than one woman in the Ratway at a time to avoid awkward situations, but you never did claim to be smart. That's your prerogative."

Brynjolf ran his fingers through his knotty, shoulder-length red hair. She sounded as she had when they first met—cold, distant, and condescending. All the walls he'd seemed to break through these last months had been built back up in a matter of seconds? Not so fast. "I think you at least owe me the courtesy of letting me explain before you make assumptions about my character and my feelings towards you, lass. Whatever you think you saw, you've got it wrong."

Freja remained calm, pushing her blonde hair from her face carefully, but her chest felt tight. Brynjolf's green eyes were shining with worry. "There's no need to explain. I heard Tonilia and Dirge talking about your relationship, and she said it herself that you'd done it before. It's not like you haven't had many women in your past," she said, her voice quivering slightly. Freja cleared her throat, hoping he hadn't heard the shaking of her voice—it would reveal how upset she was…how much she thought the night before had meant.

A look of understanding dawned on Brynjolf's face. She thought she was just one of many, and Tonilia's little stunt didn't help her see things differently. "Tonilia has always had a thing for me, and today she tried to pull something on me…"

"So you're saying you don't have a past with her?"

"She and I do have a past, but that was before _you, _lass—"

Freja put her hands up, becoming agitated. "Just stop, Bryn. It's none of my business, and I don't care." A silence stretched between them, before she began again. "We're just fellow thieves. We've had our fun. Let's not discuss it anymore."

He shook his head in confusion and frustration. The two of them just being 'thieves' was certainly not the case. "Well that's obviously not true. Do you honestly think last night was some fluke?" He asked quickly. "That I was playing you, because of the way I've handled my previous conquests?" Brynjolf chuckled anxiously for a few moments, igniting the anger in Freja's heart. She already felt stupid, and he would not make her feel even worse. "If you think that, then you don't know me at all. And I know you do."

Freja shook her head, only hearing half of what he said. "You know what? I have an appointment with Mercer, I don't have time for this." He began to open his mouth, offering to accompany her, but she held her hand up to him again.

"I will be going alone. Don't follow."


	7. Deception

**Deception**

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_**Thank you, readers, for your patience as I slowly try to keep getting chapters out for you. I love you, and I love writing for you! -Sass**_

* * *

Within an hour or two, Freja was waiting for Mercer in the main reception area of his large estate. She'd walked the outskirts of Riften first, to clear her head, before going to have a meeting. The house wasn't a very warm, home-like environment, but the estate certainly displayed his ill-gotten wealth proudly. Large, dim-witted marauders stalked the halls while little golden and silver trinkets hung on walls and sat on shelves accumulating dust. Freja imagined what she could do with those small treasures…how much money she could receive for them. And the fact that Mercer was such an offensive oaf made her itch to steal from him even more. She was jolted by the sound of his nasally, high-pitched voice, and sat up a little straighter.

"Well, it seems as though the Goldenglow job was handled well. Nice job," Mercer said as he entered the room from the door behind her. He wore a green and gold embroidered tunic, rough-sewn pants and moccasins. His smirk made her stomach turn as he sat down at the table directly across from her. _I don't trust him, even if he's the most clever guildmaster in history._

He offered her a smile. "While you were off with Brynjolf completing your little task," he said condescendingly, "I had our Vex gathering intel. What she's discovered is quite fascinating." _Right, _she thought, _as if Goldenglow was a"little" task. As I recall, not even your Vex could get in._

Freja nodded. "I'd be interested to hear it."

He nodded curtly. "It's not good. It would seem as though our adversary was attempting to take us apart indirectly by angering Maven Black-Briar. Very clever."

Freja nodded. Maven Black-Briar was the patron of the Thieves Guild; selling Goldenglow without her knowledge would push her too far—and her anger would bring down a wrath on the guild that could destroy it in one fell swoop. Whoever their adversary was, they were highly intelligent. Even Freja, an outsider, could see the cunning in that.

She laughed flatly. "If they're that good, maybe we should hire them."

Mercer scoffed, shooting Freja a dirty look. "You jest, but they've been able to avoid identification for years. They're obviously well-funded, driven and patient…but they're going to pay dearly." A few beats of silence passed between, and Freja felt the rage in his voice. "The parchment you recovered mentions a 'Gajul-Lei.' I had Vex do a little digging, and she discovered the name is tied to an old alias of one of our former associates, one Gulum-Ei."

Freja nodded as Mercer paused, although the name meant nothing. _Can we get on with this, already? He loves to be dramatic._

"He was helping with the selling of Goldenglow… For a woman named Karliah. A name I haven't heard in years." For the first time, Freja saw true distress in Mercer's face. It made her stomach tighten. If Mercer was fearful, then perhaps the entire guild needed to be fearful, as well.

"She's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again," Mercer said quietly, leaning his head into his hands. "Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for; she murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she'd done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished… She was my partner. My…" He cleared his throat. "Well, it doesn't matter. She's most likely in a place called Snow-Veil Sanctum. And you and I are going there to kill her."

Freja's eyes shot up at him. "You want me to come along? What about Brynjolf, or one of the—"

"Are you saying you can't handle the task? Because I thought you dealing with Goldenglow had proven your use to the Guild. If you're too weak, then fine. But I'm asking you because I know you're the most capable person for the job."

Freja shook her head. "You can count on me, Mercer. I just wasn't expecting murder to be a part of the equation."

"Every once and a while, we can make an exception," he said, smiling wickedly as he eyed her up and down. "Meet me there tonight at sundown. Ask one of the thieves at the Ragged Flagon to give you directions. Come prepared for battle." With that, he flicked his fingers at her, as if shooing her away, and she knew the conversation was done. Freja wanted to laugh at his self-importance, but by the way he talked about this woman, this Karliah, she knew that this task was too crucial to jest about.

Standing up, Freja nodded at him, a small smile on her reddish lips, and walked out. But instead of heading for the Flagon, she went instead to her room at the Bee and Barb. Although she hadn't used it much recently, she'd worked out a deal with Keerava to maintain it for her, and now, she needed to be alone.

Walking up the stairs of the inn, Freja prepared to sink into bed for an afternoon catnap. If she was to meet Mercer at sunset, for the purpose of ending someone's life… She needed to rest. Freja wasn't even sure if she could go through with it. But Mercer had asked it of her, and it was too late to go back.

The curtains of her room were drawn completely shut, casting the room into shadow, except for the two candles burning on the little table in the corner. _Candles?_ Freja thought quickly. _I didn't leave those burning._

"Show yourself," Freja said darkly. "I have a long night ahead of me and no time for games." After a few moments, she heard some incoherent mumbling coming from her bed across the room. In the cot, a giant, lumpy mass was lying down. She rolled her eyes, picking up a candle.

Approaching, she saw what she already knew: it was Brynjolf.

"What in the name of Talos are you doing here? Are you drunk?" Freja spat angrily. He moaned, rolling over onto his stomach.

"Why yes, lass…" Bryn said, slurring a bit. "I was waiting for you to be done with Mercer…. Keerava could tell I was out of sorts….and the mead kept flowing…."

Freja, as angry as she had been earlier, couldn't help but smile. "And so you thought it was a good idea to fall asleep in my bed?"

Brynjolf sat up suddenly, looking up into Freja's light eyes. His hair was a knotted mess around his shoulders, his eyes were half open and his clothes smelled of spilled mead. How had he gotten so drunk in only a few short hours? It had to be record timing. "Thought it to be a fantastic idea, lassie…" He murmured. Sighing with disappointment, she sat down next to him on the cot.

"Did you drink your weight in mead because you felt guilty for what happened?" Freja asked carefully, her shoulder brushing with his. Brynjolf slowly turned towards her, their eyes meeting. He chuckled quietly, letting his head lean in his hands.

"No. I did this because I was afraid." He said quietly.

"Of what?" She whispered back, staring at the silhouette of his bulky, hardened body in the darkness.

"Afraid that I had worked so hard to know you, the real you, and after what you saw, you would put those walls back up so high that no one would ever be able to breach them again. What you saw was Tonilia being foolish and lustful, nothing more. But I have no way of convincing you of my sincerity. No way to tell you I lov—"

"All right, no more mead for you, Bryn," Freja said quickly, her eyes widening as she turned to look at him, hearing what he said. "Lie down now, get some shut eye."

"But Freja—" He began, reaching for her. She grabbed his hands and quickly guided him down so that he was lying in the bed. Reluctantly, she nestled her way in next to him.

"Just stop talking," she said, smirking into the darkness even though he wouldn't be able to see her. "We'll discuss it all later. Just get some shut eye, okay?" Her back was against his chest, and she could feel it rise and fall with every breath. Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind. In a few hours, the sun would start dropping, and she would go meet Mercer. She would have to sort this all out with Brynjolf, but there would be time for that.

She knew deep down that he was telling the truth. She hadn't passed all these months in the Guild without getting a true sense of his heart; they would just have to discuss it all tomorrow when she returned from her mission with Mercer and Brynjolf was once again sober. All would be well.

* * *

At sundown, Freja was just arriving at Snow Veil Sanctum. It was bitter cold, and she wasted no time tying up her horse to the nearest tree before approaching Mercer.

"Good, you're finally here. I've scouted the ruins and I'm certain Karliah is still inside," he said darkly, almost as if he were enjoying himself too much. He crossed his arms, his grayish-brown hair blowing in the breeze.

Freja wore her lightweight, leather armor and a sword at her side. Her whiteish hair was in a long braid down her back, and her heart raced a mile a minute. She still wasn't sure she could do this, no matter how evil Karliah was, and how profoundly she'd betrayed the Guild.

"Have you seen her?" Freja asked nervously.

"No, I found her horse though." He paused, smirking. "Don't worry… I've taken care of it. She won't be using it to escape." Freja cringed, but before she could retort, Mercer continued. "Let's get moving, I want to catch her inside while she's distracted."

They then walked down the stairs of the sanctum. It didn't seem like much from the outside; the above-ground ruins were covered in snow and frost. Approaching the door, Freja tried to force it open, but it was locked.

"Here, let me," Mercer said with irritation. Freja stood back and let him work his magic. Within a minute, the door was open, and they were entering. "The stench in here…" Mercer murmured with frustration. "This place smells of death. Be on your guard."

Freja nodded, following after him. The halls of the ruins were dark and full of cobwebs and old treasures. Although her fingers itched, Freja didn't allow herself to touch anything. She didn't know what could be rigged up to a trap.

They encountered several draugr, critters and traps along the way, but luckily, neither Freja nor Mercer had much problem with them. Karliah was good, but they had come prepared. It seemed like hours that they had been heading down corridors, fighting off draugr and other such creatures, when they came upon a Nordic puzzle door.

"Ah, a famous puzzle door… How quaint. Quite simple, really," Mercer said, lacking no confidence. His gray eyes peered back at Freja, who was standing at the ready behind him.

"Karliah's close; I'm certain of it. Once we pass through this door, there's no going back."

Freja nodded. _As much of a bastard as Mercer is sometimes, at least he's honest and steadfast. Perhaps I've misjudged him._

Mercer worked on the door a few moments, and suddenly it pulled open, revealing a massive chamber. Mercer looked back at her, a wicked smile on his face. _That's odd,_ Freja thought quickly. _Why is he so excited?_

Crouching down, the two of them moved forward slowly, eyeing every inch of the room. Suddenly, Freja heard a strange sound, like a whizzing through the air. In a split second, she fell to the ground. _What the… _Perhaps a falling rock had hit her? A draugr had attacked from behind? Although it sounded more like an arrow…something Freja was immensely familiar with. She tried to stand back up, but her arms and legs wouldn't move… She was immobilized. Swiftly, she tried to call out for Mercer, but her voice remained silent. Had she been hit? Mercer glanced back at her, and wave of relief washed over her. _Finally, he's seen me, _she thought. _He'll come help._

But instead of running to aid her, Mercer just laughed in Freja's direction. "Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?" He bellowed into the darkness. Freja began feeling tired, but she fought to keep her eyes open. _I just need to stay alive long enough for Mercer to finish her off, and then he'll come get me._

A soft, smooth voice flitted through the air, like the sound of a breeze on the meadows of Rorikstead. "Give me a reason to try."

"You're a clever girl, Karliah; buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired." Mercer was yelling into the darkness, his eyes going wide with what seemed like madness. He had moved to the nearest column, taking shelter behind it as he engaged their invisible foe.

"'To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.' It was the first lesson Gallus taught us," the voice continued, a note of pain in the tone.

Mercer laughed wickedly. "You were always a quick study."

"Not quick enough. Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?" She said angrily.

"Enough! Come, Karliah!" He screamed into the dark void of the sanctum. "It's time for you and Gallus to be reunited!"

By now, Freja was barely keeping her eyes open. Her body had gone completely numb, but she was fighting still. _What am I hearing? _She thought. It almost made sense… A few moments of silence passed before Karliah spoke up again.

"I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise you the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

It seemed to be the end of it, and as Mercer turned towards Freja, relief washed over her. She was fairly skilled with a bow, and if she knew anything, then this was some sort of paralysis poison… Or perhaps a nightshade poison. But she couldn't panic; she waited for Mercer. She was sure he could do something to remedy it.

"How interesting," he began, smirking again, his hands on his hips as he looked at her. "It appears Gallus' history has repeated itself." _What's he talking about?_ Freja thought. "Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me most?" He paused, bending down to flick a stray piece of blonde hair from Freja's eye. If she could've flinched, she would've. "The fact that this was all possible because of you. Such a shame, too, as you're so good to look at. Farewell; I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards. You seemed to be the only woman he's ever truly cared about." Leaning down, Mercer kissed her lips roughly, making Freja want to spit in his face. He really was sick.

She wanted to kick him, wanted to grab her blade, wanted to do something—but she was still paralyzed. Suddenly, Mercer pulled his blade from his side and shoved it through Freja's leather armor and into her abdomen. Although she couldn't move, she exhaled raggedly, the pain sharp and merciless as it spread through her, despite the fact that she was beginning to lose feeling everywhere. Without a second thought, Mercer stood up and walked away. The world was starting to go white, and all Freja could see was Brynjolf's face. _Goodbye._


	8. If You Want Something Done Right

**If You Want Something Done Right**

* * *

_**Guess who's back!**_

* * *

A bright light stung Freja's eyes. Slowly, she opened them, seeing the gleam of the sun bounce off of the snow surrounding her. _Where am I?_ She thought groggily. Her limbs tingled, and they were incredibly stiff, but she didn't want to waste another moment. Slowly, Freja tried to prop herself up.

"Easy, easy," a smooth, familiar voice said, like out of a dream. "Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?"

Freja's eyes adjusted to see who she assumed to be Karliah standing a few feet away, her arms folded. Freja's heart started beating quickly, confusion welling in her aching head. She hadn't caught a glimpse of the woman, but she would never forget that smooth voice. It had to be her.

"You shot me!" Freja bellowed angrily. Karliah barely moved a muscle, her facial expression betraying nothing.

"No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out… Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Karliah leaned down next to Freja, slowing lifting her up to sitting position. _Smug little dunmer, _Freja thought.

"So why did you save me?" Freja replied quietly, unsure what to think of what the last hours had brought.

She sighed, looking at the ground. "My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death."

Freja looked warily at the dunmer. Only hours ago, she thought Karliah was the enemy, someone who had betrayed the Guild so blatantly that she had to sink into the shadows for years, just to hide from the wrath of those who were looking for her. After what she heard in the Sanctum however, and what Karliah was saying now, everything had changed.

"You should have shot Mercer instead." Freja said flatly. After what he said, and the feeling of the rough-edged dagger slicing through her stomach... She wanted him dead.

"I promise you, the thought crossed my mind. The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot."

Freja was dumbfounded. _A year?_ She sat up, grunting with the effort of it. Her body still felt off, as if she was coming out of a decade's long sleep. The wound in her side had been stitched up, but it was still very tender and hurt like hell.

"All I wanted was Mercer alive," Karliah said quietly, leaning down to help balance Freja. "He has to answer for what he's done."

Freja looked closely at her. Karliah was beautiful in an ethereal, ghostly way. Though she looked young, the lines around her dark red eyes revealed her true age, and the amount of struggle she'd seen in her life. "So let me try to understand, because as far as I know, everything I've heard is a lie. You didn't kill Gallus… Mercer did? And he somehow pushed the blame onto you?"

Karliah closed her eyes sadly. "Yes. He betrayed the Guild in more ways than you could imagine. And I intend to reveal the truth. I recovered Gallus' journal from his remains, and I think it has the information we need."

Freja cocked her head, confused. "What do you mean 'you think?'"

Karliah smiled weakly. "The journal is written in a language I've never seen before."

Freja scoffed, pushing her hair from her light eyes. "Naturally."

Karliah stood up, lifting Freja slowly up with her to help her stand. "All is not lost," she said in her low, sweet tone. "I spoke with a friend of the Nightingales, a man named Enthir at the College of Winterhold. He told me that a lexicon exists to help decode the journal, and a wizard named Calcelmo possesses it. There is still hope."

Freja stretched out her limbs. "What are 'Nightingales'?" she questioned curiously. Karliah waved her off.

"Another time. Right now, you need to retrieve that lexicon," Karliah said very seriously.

Freja was dumbfounded. "What? You can't be serious." Karliah just stared at her, and Freja turned her back, looking off towards the wilderness beyond them. Her voice was frantic. "Why can't you do it? I don't even know you. I have to get back to the Guild. I have to let Brynjolf kno—"

"You can't go back," Karliah interrupted. "At least not now. Mercer will have returned to them by now, and he will have told them I killed you, or even worse, that you betrayed the Guild in my name, and he had no choice but to put you down. Either way, your existence needs to remain a secret until everything is in order for us."

Freja whirled back around, her white-blonde hair blowing the breeze, her stomach aching where Mercer had shoved the knife. "What 'us'? I'm sorry about what happened to Gallus, but—"

Karliah suddenly raised her voice. "Do you care about the Guild at all, or the people within? I heard the panic in your voice at the mention of Brynjolf's name. You care for him? Hm? If you want to protect him from Mercer, you'll need to have all the information. Bryn was like a son to Gallus and I. I care for him too. But the only other man who was there for him after Gallus was gone, and I disappeared, was Mercer. If you want to convince the whole Guild, Brynjolf included, that Mercer is truly wicked, you're going to need more than your words. Because Mercer has led them through the darkness for years, even though he created that darkness. Mercer is a master manipulator and a ruthless killer, and it'll be your word against his, if he doesn't eliminate you first. You're too tangled to get out now— surely, you must see that. "

Freja went quiet for a few moments. _Dammit, she's right. How did everything become so convoluted? _"I…understand. But how can I just go on, letting them all think I'm dead? I'm not even in a position to do what needs to be done." She pointed to the cut in her black, leather armor where the knife had cut through.

"I promise it won't be long, and it won't require much exertion on your part. The faster we can decode the journal, the faster you can return to Brynjolf. You must retrieve it, as I am a wanted woman anytime I step out of the shadows. Right now, it's safer for you to travel to Markarth, alone." Freja remained silent, and Karliah sighed, taking a step towards her, a pleading look in her eyes. "Please… help me in this, and I swear I will deliver you back to Brynjolf. We will eliminate Mercer and restore the Guild to its former glory."

* * *

Brynjolf sat up, completely disoriented. It was the middle of the night. _Twelve days._ Blinking his eyes with effort, he felt around for the candle on the table near his bed, lighting it quickly. _It's been twelve days. _Brynjolf stood up in the flickering light and pulled his clothes on. Twelve days since she'd gone, and eleven since Mercer had come back without her. And Mercer had hardly said anything about it.

A knock at the door jolted him for a moment. Brynjolf didn't utter a word, and just sat back down on his bed.

"Bryn?" A low, accented voice called. "It's me, Vekel." Brynjolf just stared at the door frame, a frown on his face. "I brought you a late dinner, can I come in?"

He still didn't respond, although Vekel opened the door anyway. _Why did they keep doing this, treating him like a wounded dog? _"I'm coming in," he said, a tray of meat and bread in his hands. Vekel sighed with annoyance. "If I waited for you to tell me to, I'd be standing there all day."

He put the tray down on the table near the bed, and then turned to stare at Brynjolf. Vekel had never seen him look so rough. Bryn sat on the bed, no shirt, hair a mess, with an empty look in his eyes. "You haven't eaten in days, you know," Vekel said quietly.

"I'm fine," Bryn replied, suddenly looking up, as if he were seeing Vekel for the first time.

"That's a load of troll dung," Vekel said with some emotion. "We all know what's wrong, so you don't have to treat us like we're dense. I know you miss her, Brynj—"

"I said I'm fine, and I don't want to talk about it, lad," he interrupted, his tone chilly. Vekel merely sighed. How many times could they go down this road? Everyone had tried to help Brynjolf out of his current state, but he didn't want to be helped. Vekel had one more option.

"I know Mercer didn't tell you much except that...well… Freja was lost," Vekel said quietly, walking towards the door. He stopped in the doorway, his voice falling to just above a whisper. "Well, I finally got Mercer to talk a little. I kept pestering him, you know, for your sake, and he finally told me what happened to Freja."

Brynjolf stood suddenly, staring at Vekel with an unreadable look on his face. "And?" He said anxiously.

"Well… I guess he didn't tell anyone because he wanted to leave her with some pride in death. But from what Mercer said, Freja charged headlong into battle after catching a glimpse of Karliah. Brave of her, trying to help Mercer catch the little she-devil. Still, he tried to stop her, to tell her to slow down and be cautious, but… She ran right into a trap that Karliah had rigged. Tripped a wire or something," Vekel said softly, staring at him. He was terrified at how he would take the information—and was even more concerned when, after a few minutes, Brynjolf started laughing.

"Bryn?" Vekel said quietly.

After a few moments, he stopped. "Tripped a wire, you said?" Brynjolf said, his eyes shining brightly.

"That's what he sa—" Vekel began, but Brynjolf swept past him, grabbing a dirty, half-ripped shirt from the desk next to the door. In a moment, Bryn had thrown it over his head and pushed past him out the door. "Where are you going?!" Vekel called in shock.

Brynjolf called back behind him: "To see Mercer. We have something to discuss."

Climbing the ladder to the false tomb, something Freja had once said kept replaying in his mind.

_"__I've never tripped a wire, snagged myself in a trap or fell for a rigged treasure chest in all my years. I'm too good, Bryn. You should know that by now."_

* * *

In three days time, Freja had arrived in Markarth. If it wasn't already apparent, Karliah was one of the most stubborn, strong-willed and dedicated women that Freja had ever come across. She'd prepared everything meticulously, despite the fact that she didn't plan on having a partner thrown into the mix. Freja could tell, however, that Karliah was grateful for someone to talk to. Once and a while, when she was distracted, she would tell Freja stories about her time in the Guild, before everything fell apart.

Freja still felt like running and leaving it all behind. What did she have to lose? After all, she only had come to the Guild to escape the Dark Brotherhood. That had been taken care of, the slate wiped clean. She could pack up, take the gold she'd saved and head to the Imperial City, or even Morrowind.

Yet every time she thought of it, a sick feeling entered her stomach.

Because she belonged to the Guild now.

It was her home.

And she had to take Mercer down.

Freja stepped deeper into the depths of Understone Keep, shuddering with disdain as she pulled her cloak up closer around her neck.

"Why I agreed to this, I'll never know," she muttered to herself quietly, tossing her white-blonde hair out of her face. The faster she found the translation, the faster she could bring Mercer to justice. Then the Guild could be delivered into the hands of someone worthy—like Brynjolf, and she could go back.

Freja cursed herself silently, slipping without a sound down the murky, unpleasant halls. As long as she was working alongside Karliah, she was a ghost—and had to remain so, until they could clear Karliah's name, prove Gallus' murder, and deliver the truth to the world. As long as Mercer was still in control of the Guild, no one would ever be safe, and she would never have a home to go back to. He had tried to kill her, after all. Freja owed Karliah her life.

Her thoughts inevitably drifted back to Bryn. Telling herself not to think of him and doing it were two different things. After all, he had become one of her most trusted confidantes and closest friends, despite the confusion that had sprung up between them—the question of Freja's feelings for Bryn, and his for her. The whole mess with Tonilia wasn't resolved before she left, and now, it might never. Freja felt foolish. Did it even matter? Maybe she wasn't meant for romance. After all, before she even met Brynjolf, Freja was in love with another—her life of freedom.

Freja pushed it all from her mind. That was then. Now, she was thought to be dead by the Guild. The few contacts she and Karliah still had told them as much. There were one or two who had spotted Freja or recognized her, but Karliah was very persuasive in convincing them to forget what they saw. Otherwise, her existence was still a secret.

Shaking her head to herself, Freja straightened up as she entered into a large chamber. No time for such thoughts. The dampness of Understone Keep almost made her miss the Ratway—almost. In the misty light of the cavernous room, Freja spotted a hooded elf, bent over a table and muttering to himself. Based off of Karliah's descriptions, this man appeared to be the one she was looking for; he was old, frail, and by the look of his clothes, appeared to be an academic, or some sort of wizard. Freja took a deep breath, pulling her hood away from her face. Time to be her most charming self.

Freja approached the table where the wizard Calcelmo stood pouring over his books. Freja stood behind him, waiting before she met him face to face. She had to play this carefully—appeal to his pride. "Master Calcelmo?" She said in a low, sweet tone.

He didn't bother to look up or turn around towards her, too obsessed with the work in front of him. "Hm, yes? That's me." Calcelmo replied haplessly, flipping through some pages with speed. "Look, this better be important, I'm very busy."

Freja ran her fingers through her light blonde hair, sighing. _Is there anything worse than an egotistical elf? _She walked around the other side of the table and stood across from him now. Freja laughed softly, the tone of her voice almost musical, trying gently to catch his attention. "Well, I suppose you wouldn't find it important, but I do need your help…"

Calcelmo scoffed, finally looking up at Freja. _There we go, _she thought. A glimpse of her light eyes, white-ish hair and delicate features, and Calcelmo was singing a different tune. "I apologize, my dear, I've been quite rude… What is it you were saying?"

She stared back at his pale, wrinkled face, her own betraying nothing of the mission at hand. "My name is Talira, and I'm a great admirer of your work. In fact, I've traveled across Skyrim in the hopes of seeing your workshop. Where you dream up your incredible experiments and concoctions." Freja traced her fingertips gently over the pages of his opened books, as one might touch a lover's flesh. Calcelmo smiled a genuine grin.

"Well, now… My laboratory is off-limits, I'm afraid," he said, fidgeting slightly. _Damn. Just the place I need to go._ Freja frowned as he stared at her hungrily. "But, what kind of a mentor would I be if I denied a potential student a glimpse at her master's ingenuity!" Taking his eyes off of Freja for a moment, he rummaged around his robes, looking for something. Freja bit her lip in anticipation. "Here, this key will provide access to my museum. Feel free to browse for as long as you wish... However, I must insist that my laboratory remains strictly off limits. Can I trust you to return this to me? I must finish some work here, but then I'd be happy to join you there and show you...the height of my genius." He asked before dropping the key in her pale, delicate hand.

She smiled devilishly at the old elf. "Of course you can trust me."


	9. Thief Against Thief

**Thief Against Thief**

* * *

Guys, I'm BAAACK! I didn't forget about you, I've just been busy with school! Now that my major project is done (a 50 page thesis)... I'm ready to get you your stories! Your patience is invaluable to me. I hope you haven't forgotten about all these excellent characters.

UPDATE: Sorry readers, I just realized I uploaded the unedited version of this. Here's the new version.

* * *

Not fifteen minutes later, Brynjolf burst through the doors of Mercer's study in his house, closely followed by some of Mercer's mercenaries. Mercer barely flinched as Brynjolf flew into the room, punching one of them square in the jaw when the man tried to restrain him.

"Let him be," Mercer said quietly, waving his hand as if it were nothing. He sat at his desk in the middle of the room, looking over some papers, not even bothering to glance up at Bryn. "What is the meaning of this, Brynjolf?"

Brynjolf walked up to the desk where he sat and slammed both his fists down onto it. "What happened to Freja?" He asked quietly, staring directly into Mercer's eyes.

"I won't discuss it—" He began, but Brynjolf slammed his fists again.

"I talked to Vekel. He told me what you said—that she tripped a wire running headlong into battle?"

Mercer sighed, his grayish, scraggly hair falling into his eyes as he finally met Brynjolf's gaze. Feigning a look of concern, he nodded. "I'm sorry Bryn, I tried—"

"Bullshit," Brynjolf said in a low, harsh tone.

"Excuse me?" Mercer bellowed suddenly, his anger flaring.

"Perhaps you expected the others to believe that, those who've never worked alongside her. But I knew her. I raided Goldenglow with her. If you expect me to think that she tripped a wire, then you're fooling yourself. It's just like you to concoct some embarrassing story about her abilities. You always were intimidated by the talents of others," he said venomously. Brynjolf's chest was heaving with excitement. _I've got him._

"Well Bryn, good for you. You've caught me in a lie," Mercer began. Yet the tone of his voice was too smooth... Something wasn't right. His temper was too even. He continued. "I told Vekel that because he wouldn't leave me alone, for Nines' sake. I wanted to spare you from this at all costs... But since you insist on harassing me, I guess I'll have to be honest with you."

A silent beat passed between them as Brynjolf removed his fists from Mercer's desk, and Mercer stood up.

"Freja was not who you thought she was. That whole story about the Dark Brotherhood was a ploy... She was an informant for Karliah. Of course she wasn't stupid enough to trip a wire—in fact, she was too good. Once she and I found Karliah, they revealed everything. Freja was going to complete a few more missions for us after I was out of the way to solidify her position in the Guild. She was told to form a relationship with you, in case anyone became suspicious and she needed a respectable thief to vouch for her. As soon as Karliah appeared, I nearly had a dagger shoved in my back from Freja."

Silence. Brynjolf was dumbfounded. _This can't be._ Mercer continued.

"Apparently she and Karliah had been working together for some time, planning everything delicately. She knew she needed someone inside the Guild to help her... To be her eyes and ears. Their biggest mistake was letting me go. They put up a good fight, but I managed to make it out." For the first time that Brynjolf could remember, Mercer's eyes seemed joyful. He was proud of himself? "I wanted to spare you this hurt, Bryn... You know I respect you like a son. I'm sorry you couldn't see this sooner. But none of us could."

_No. No, no, no._ Brynjolf thought. But would Mercer lie to him? "I...just can't believe this. I don't."

Surprisingly, Mercer was kind. "I don't expect you to. Maybe words aren't enough."

Brynjolf ran his hands through his bright red hair, sighing. "What do you mean?"

Mercer crossed his arms, pacing across the room as he spoke. "I managed to pick up on something that Karliah is looking for. It's a translation for a journal; I don't know many details except that it's located in the Understone Keep at Markarth. A trustworthy contact told me that she's preparing to steal it."

"And?" Brynjolf said hastily, rubbing the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. What did this have to do with anything?

"You could use the distraction, and you apparently need some convincing. We need to get that translation first, and I want you to do it. Maybe you need to be reminded of how dangerous and influential Karliah really is. If the job goes off without a hitch, and there's no sign of Karliah or Freja, then fine. You can continue questioning me. But I have a feeling that won't be the case... Why would I lie to you?"

Brynjolf sighed, this would somehow put his mind at rest, then so be it. Bryn was more confused than ever. He knew there was a third explanation—he was as likely to believe Freja made a mistake as she was an informant for Karliah—but he couldn't rush to judgment just yet. Something very strange was going on, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. _To Markarth I go, _he thought. Within the hour, he'd packed up and prepared to make the long journey.

* * *

Freja had run out of swear words for the frustration she was feeling. She'd gotten through the museum with ease; getting into Calcelmo's private lab, however, was a another matter, and there were guards everywhere.

On the way to his laboratory, she'd faced various traps, poison gas, and fan blades that swung out to cut off your limbs every time you drew near. _What kind of a museum is this?_ She shook her head, creeping down a darkened hall. Obviously, someone wanted to keep certain items well-protected. The laboratory was close; she just had to get in, take Calcelmo's notes, and then get out of there.

The hallway she moved down had small, rectangular windows at eye level that allowed her to glimpse into Calcelmo's laboratory below. She surveyed it, noticing a set of stairs that led up to the door that she was approaching. Below, the lab was a long, thin space, with a small experiment room at the end closest to her, and a balcony looking out over Markarth at the opposite side. Freja spotted an elf sitting at a desk in the middle, much like Calcelmo had been doing when she met him. _Are all elves bores?_ She thought, trying to amuse herself. There were a few ways to play this—she could try sneaking in, or she could try to seduce the elf. Either way, she had to deal with him. Barging in didn't make much sense. She could at least try to talk to him, and if that didn't work, she'd knock him swiftly out and disappear before he ever woke up. _That's that_, she decided. Intent on seduction, Freja stood from her spot and slowly began to slide down the hallway again, preparing to walk through the door at the end—when suddenly she spotted a hooded figure climbing through the balcony window on the opposite end of the room. She panicked... Who in the name of the Nine was this?

She continued watching through one of the small windows from the hallway, shrouded in darkness. The hooded figure quickly walked up behind the elf and incapacitated him—wrapping an arm around his neck until he fell, unconscious. Was this some individual thief, or from the Thieves Guild? It seemed too much of a coincidence that it was a random person... Then her fears were realized.

The figure pulled his hood down, revealing a mane of bright red hair. It was Brynjolf. Freja's heart stopped. It'd been almost two weeks since she'd laid eyes on him. What was going on? _What the hell is he doing here? _She leaned back from the window, panicking as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn't let him see her, but she also couldn't give up on finding the translation. Peering back in for a moment, she noticed Brynjolf had moved to the far side of the room, looking for something at the tables underneath where he'd entered. Maybe she could get in and get out without him seeing her? She shook her head. _The risk is too great._

But then she sighed. What choice was there? Bryn was good, but so was she. Maybe she could find what she was looking for before he did? As long as he stayed on his side of the room and she stayed on hers. If he neared, she could try to hide in the shadows until he passed. As long as she found what she needed before he did.

Freja slid into the room through the western door, opposite where Bryn was rummaging through some papers. She could hardly breathe; if he saw her, this was going to be over quickly. She barely made a sound, stopping every few seconds with the fear that he'd turn around and catch her.

Crouching behind a stone table at the bottom of the stairs, Freja peeked up to see Brynjolf frustratedly pouring through a book. _So far, so good. _Carefully, she moved to the opposite end of the room, through an opened door into a smaller area that held some of Calcelmo's experiments. As long as she stayed hidden and kept hear ears open, she could do this.

But where to begin? She quickly searched through the pages that were strewn about on the tables; she and Karliah really had no idea what the translation would look like, or if it even was a translation. Every moment that passed made Freja more anxious, and all the while, she had to keep her ears open so not as to be caught by Bryn.

After fifteen minutes, Freja began panicking as she heard Brynjolf move closer. He was probably only ten feet away from the little room she stood in, now. And to top it all off, she hadn't found anything of note. _Is he looking for the same thing I am? _Turning around in a panic, she suddenly noticed a small staircase that led up to a landing overlooking the laboratory. As he moved closer, she silently ran up the stairs, praying it would be enough to keep her out of his sight. Freja hid behind a large, stone slab that stood at the top of the steps, listening without breathing. She could hear Brynjolf flipping through pages in a book, probably one she had just sorted through. She breathed a small sigh of relief. _At least I've already checked everything down there. If I couldn't find it, I don't think he will. _

Feeling the coolness of the stone at her back, Freja turned to look what she was leaning on. Suddenly, she gasped—there was a drawing of this in Gallus' journal! It appeared to be some sort of translation guide, or a lexicon, based on the strange markings it bore. Freja glanced around frantically for some way to copy it. A few clean sheets of papyrus paper were strewn across the floor at the bottom of the stairs, and that gave her an idea. _I'll copy it with charcoal. _A few pieces were in a pack next to her feet.

Turning back around, Freja ran nearly the stairs, forgetting for a moment that Bryn was down there, still looking around. She was starting to become careless... She only had a few seconds to figure out what to do. And so, she took bold action.

Jumping onto his back, Freja wrapped her arms around Brynjolf's head, hoping to knock him out from lack of oxygen, just as he had done to the elf in the other room. He grunted in surprise, jerking around wildly as he fought to dislodge the intruder from his back. He clawed at her delicate wrists, trying to slam his back against the wall with her on it. She tried not to make a sound, holding on for dear life.

After a few moments, Brynjolf staggered to his knees, weakening. He cursed himself angrily, knowing that he was slowly slipping away to unconsciousness. How could he be so stupid? He was too distracted by his grief, his confusion...

As he passed out, Freja carefully laid his limp body on the floor, pulling her hood up quickly over her head, just in case. As his eyes fluttered shut, she leaned down next to him, tears filling her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bryn... I love you," she whispered, kissing his lips with a feathery touch. When he was resting peacefully, Freja stepped over his limp body, grabbing a piece of paper from the table next to him. _Almost done,_ she thought as she walked up the stairs towards the stone slab that held the answer to all their questions.

* * *

Brynjolf woke up in a cot—behind bars. His head hurt worse than any hangover he'd ever felt, and he shuddered, realizing he failed.

There was only one thing he knew. Mercer was right, and something deeper was going on here. He knew it in his bones, because just as he was drifting away, he felt the brush of someone's lips against his. A whispered phrase or two. Deep down, he couldn't be sure whether or not it was Freja. He prayed it wasn't...but then again, he prayed it was. He was going to find the truth, and soon.


	10. Hello Again

**Hello, Again**

* * *

_**Sorry it's been so long!**_

* * *

Freja slammed open the cellar door of the Frozen Hearth, the Winterhold inn where Karliah holed up with the contact who would be able to decode Gallus' journal — yet another elf named Enthir. Freja's light blonde hair was matted and wet, mixed both with the sweat of exertion and the cold snow that was falling outside. Her agitation was obvious, and Karliah's lips formed a thin line in disappointment upon seeing her for the first time in two days.

"You've failed," she said, more a statement than a question. Freja's strange, savage look, her heaving chest, and the ratty state of her clothes suggested as much.

Yet Freja slammed the wooden door behind her, shaking her head with annoyance. "I sure as hell didn't. I got what we needed — luckily before Brynjolf could. He showed up."

"He did?" Her short, dark hair swung as she turned her head in Freja's direction. The slightest tone of surprise and worry painted Karliah's voice. That was as much as she would give up; she was ever-composed.

"Yes," Freja said, leaning over the wooden table in the center of the room. Her breathing steadied slightly. "Mercer must have caught wind of this somehow, and sent him… Maybe Mercer's playing him, maybe —"

Karliah rounded the table, staring at Freja. "This doesn't look good, Freja. You have to consider the possibility that Brynjolf is the enemy, like Mercer. I can't have you distracted. The future of the entire guild hangs in the balance. Right now, it's not important what he knows or what he doesn't know."

Freja was going to retort, as she always did, but she was tired. She'd had this argument with Karliah one too many times. She'd agreed to help exonerate Karliah, and to put all her personal issues aside in favor of the guild. She wanted to deliver them from Mercer's evil almost as badly as Karliah did. And write now, Brynjolf was becoming a distraction she couldn't afford. Maybe he was working with Mercer… Or maybe he wasn't. And if he wasn't, he would figure this out when the time came. He wasn't stupid… Though since she left him unconscious on Calcelmo's laboratory floor, he was probably in jail in Markarth. Or worse — in Cidhna Mine, earning his freedom through hard labor.

"You're right," Freja said, finally meeting Karliah's eyes. "No more hindrances. What's the next step?"

Karliah turned to Enthir, nodding in his direction. "Using what you found, Enthir here will help us decode the journal. If Gallus wrote anything down that will lead us to understand what happened, then our next step will be to inform the guild. This could be the final proof we need."

Freja nodded, reaching deep in her pocket for the charcoal etching she took from Calcelmo's laboratory. The one that she knocked Brynjolf out in order to obtain. She cringed slightly as she handed it over, and Karliah handed it into Enthir's pale, wrinkled hands. Could things ever go back to the way they were?

For the next fifteen minutes, Enthir paged through Gallus' journal, grunting occasionally, sucking air through his lips with frustration, and whispering indecipherably. Freja paced while Karliah stood as still as a corpse.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Enthir decidedly shut Gallus' journal, half cackling, and half coughing.

"Well?" Karliah said, her voice even in tone.

"It says here that Mercer had been using the guild's funds and violated something called the Twilight Sepulcher, whatever that means…" The words meant nothing to Freja, but seeing Karliah's eyes widen underscored its importance.

"What's the Twilight Sepulcher?" Freja said, facing Karliah.

Karliah simply waved her off. "Not now," she said quietly.

Freja rolled her pale eyes as she crossed her arms against her chest. Her patience was wearing thin. "I'm starting to get sick of that answer." Not long ago, she'd been a newly-made thief on the run from a group of shadowy killers. Now, she was a newly-made fugitive on the run from the group she was just learning to call home. When would it stop?

"You've earned more than enough answers," Karliah said quietly, "but when the time is right." Pulling a dagger from her side, Karliah swiftly moved towards Freja. A jolt of adrenaline ran through Freja's veins, and she took a few steps back, expecting Karliah to come after her for a moment.

"Relax," Karliah whispered, cracking one of the first smiles Freja had ever seen. "This is for you." The dagger she presented to Freja was thin but elegantly crafted, with a surprisingly dark metal and a very ornate handle. "I want you to have this Nightingale Blade, as a token of my appreciation for all your help." She held it out to Freja, and With a bit of skepticism, Freja took it slowly.

"We've accomplished all we needed to. Now all that's left is to inform the guild."

Freja nodded, smirking a little. "How, with a note? Maybe sent them a carrier pigeon?"

"No," Karliah said with an air of excitement in her voice. "Meet me at midnight at the Ragged Flagon. In the old tomb that doubles as an entrance for the guild."

Freja whipped her head around carefully. "What?! You want to just walk into the Ragged Flagon? They think I'm dead or a traitor, and they definitely think the same of you."

"It's time. You wanted to get to Brynjolf… now's your chance. And I'll need both of you for what comes next. If he's stayed as loyal to you and to the morals of the guild, as you seem to believe, then it'll be easier than you think."

Freja shook her head. _Nine be damned._

* * *

"Get up, you ginger-haired idiot! Or I'll send you straight to Cidhna Mine!" A ragged voice yelled, waking Brynjolf from his unrestful slumber. He turned on his straw cot towards the metal bars that held him in this rat's nest. A thin, old man with sagging, wrinkly skin stood on the other side with a wooden tray in his hands. This was the first food Brynjolf had seen in days, yet it didn't entice him much. It was some type of cream-colored slop.

"I'm not quite interested in whatever you've got there, lad. 'Preciate the gesture, though. Feel like absolute royalty down here." It was a little known fact that underneath Understone Keep, there were cells to hold those prisoners who were awaiting their sentence, whether it be losing a limb, work in Cidhna, or the ultimate punishment. Brynjolf wasn't necessarily worried, but he was having difficulty formulating a plan to escape. They'd taken everything from him, except for the few lockpicks he always kept hidden.

"Who are you calling 'lad'?" The old man said, a tone of amusement in his raspy voice. His eyes shone from his sunken eye sockets, and he slid the wooden tray underneath the tiny space at the bottom of the cell for Brynjolf. "You should be interested... It's my famous mutton stew. I think you'll like it very much."

Brynjolf sat up, letting his bare feet touch the dirty ground. He wore only a pair of ragged pants; everything else was taken from him. His reddish hair hung in a messy braid at the nape of his neck, and he sat shirtless, his wide, muscled body remaining still. Brynjolf felt very curious all of the sudden. Why would the cook deliver the food personally? Didn't they have guards coming down to handle that?

The old man turned away, walking faster than he had before, and Brynjolf rose from his cot to inspect the food that was left. Frowning as he approached, it was just the slop he'd seen from afar and a dirty, wooden spoon. Sighing, Bryn closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to let frustration overtake him. Leaning down to grab the food that his body was craving (no matter how disgusting it looked), his mind quickly drifted away to the circumstances that brought him to his incarceration.

Mercer was right.

He'd gone to retrieve the lexicon, and he'd been foiled by an unseen foe. The memory was hazy, but he knew that someone was there with him as he slipped into unconsciousness...brushing their lips to his...whispering words. _Freja?_

Perhaps. But he couldn't be sure. And right now, the most important point was getting out of there. Sighing, Bryn sat on the bed with his tray of stew. Picking up the wooden spoon, he shoved it into the mushy concoction, scooping up a huge helping. Bringing it to his mouth, he winced at the taste. It was burnt and mushy...but it was food. Taking another bite, his teeth suddenly bit down on something hard, and he spit it out into his hand, coughing.

Then, he smirked.

The old man had hidden a key in the stew. And Brynjolf was one step further to making out of here. At sundown, he would take his chance to escape, and he'd be back to the guild by midnight.

* * *

Freja had never felt so anxious in her life. She crept through the graveyard near the back entrance to the guild; it was nearly midnight, and she and Karliah would be meeting soon. Coming upon the mausoleum that held the false tomb, Freja stepped inside, leaning her back against the cool stone. She couldn't force herself to pull the chain and enter the false tomb yet... She was too nervous. If another thief exited or entered now, Freja wasn't sure what she would do. She felt more secure waiting for Karliah so that they could face the guild together. Otherwise, things could turn ugly.

Feeling tired, anxious, and vulnerable, for one of the first times in weeks, Freja let the tears form in her eyes. She wished for a moment she could've gone back to the beginning, to the moment she decided to take up with the guild. Instead, she could've gone somewhere else, like Morrowind, or Solthsteim. She could've found a new identity, a new way to live, another—

"Show yourself," a deep voice suddenly said. Freja froze; she'd lost herself in her distress for a moment. Someone was standing just outside the mausoleum... They must have heard her. "Face me as I deserve to be faced, lass." How could she be so stupid? A thief, a mistress of deception, and she didn't hear someone creeping up? This was what grief and pain did to her.

Taking a deep breath, Freja stood up from leaning against the wall of the mausoleum and moved to the doorway. Standing just outside was him.

Bryn.


	11. Just Like Old Times

**Just Like Old Times**

* * *

_I know I posted recently, but I wanted to treat you guys! This is where it starts getting good._

* * *

It didn't seem possible, but there Freja was, shrouded in the shadow of the midnight moon. Alive. An apparition made real, standing in the doorway of the stone mausoleum that led to the guild below. When Brynjolf examined her, he saw a woman who had seen too much darkness in the world. Her lips were a thin, solemn line as she waited for him to speak, and it frightened Brynjolf to see Freja this way. Something had gone gravely wrong in the last few weeks. His green eyes glassed over. He thought he'd lost her... Where had she been? Really? This had to be some sort of deception, and he wasn't sure if he was courageous enough to pose the questions that needed to be asked.

Freja, too, hardly had the courage to move an inch. After all that she'd learned from Karliah, all Mercer said… Why had she returned? _Oh right, because I'm supposed to meet Karliah here, to explain everything to the guild and expose Mercer. _It could turn into a dangerous encounter, especially if Brynjolf belonged to Mercer's side. Freja didn't know whether Karliah had arrived yet—or whether she was hidden in the shadows somewhere. She prayed for the latter.

"I thought you were dead." He whispered finally, unable to take his eyes off of her. She blinked a few times, pushing the hair from her face. The words stung him, even as he spoke them. Her armor hung off of her limply; she hadn't eaten or slept much in weeks, apparently. Not unlike Bryn himself.

"I'm…not." Freja replied softly, not sure what to make of this news. As the words echoed out, she realized how idiotic they sounded. _That was what everyone was supposed to think._ As much as she wanted to believe Brynjolf was innocent in all this, she had to keep her mind open to the possibility that he had been using her to accomplish his and Mercer's goals.

"I can see that," he replied with an edge of annoyance to his voice, running his hands through his reddish hair. "The second rumor I heard was that you were working with Karliah. So why are you here, lass? Were you the one who left me for dead in that laboratory in Markarth? I only escaped from their jail hours ago. How funny that fate would bring me here, right where you stand." His words bit with anger.

The question jolted her eyes up to his again. She could now see a look of hurt in them—this was painful for Brynjolf. In the seconds after he spoke, Freja thought to herself, reminding herself again why she came here. _Because Mercer tried to kill me._ _Because Mercer killed Gallus, and blamed it on Karliah all these years._ _Because you might_ _not_ _know this already.__ Or__ perhaps you do know, and you were in on the plan to have me killed, now that my __usefulness has run its course._

She chose only to answer his first question. "It's about Karliah, and Mercer."

Brynjolf's ears perked up. "Oh yeah?" He asked with curiosity, turning away from her for a moment, in what seemed to be disgust. "What about them?" With a certain amount of anxiety and anticipation, Brynjolf folded his arms over his chest, trying to look more intimidating. He didn't want to fight Freja, but he would challenge her if this conversation led down a dangerous road. If she had joined up with Karliah, the woman who betrayed them all and murdered the only father Brynjolf ever knew… He tried with all his might to remain calm, to keep it together.

Freja clasped her hands together, twisting her fingers wretchedly in nervousness. Breathing deeply, she blew a few stray blonde hairs out of her face and began: "When Mercer brought me to Snow Veil Sanctum, he tried to kill me. If it wasn't for Karliah, I would be—" but Brynjolf shook his head at her, walking forward to the mausoleum and slamming his fist into the arched, stone entrance where Freja stood. The sound reverberated with a dull thud, and Freja jumped slightly. If he pulled a stunt like that again with someone nearby, they would surely hear, and Freja would be found. And then she would have to make some tough decisions.

As soon as she said it, Brynjolf knew she couldn't be trusted. And yet…something tugged at his mind. A minuscule part of his brain told him to wait, to be quiet, and to listen. Unfortunately, right now he didn't feel like listening or being quiet. Freja took a few steps back, and Bryn compensated, coming forward into the little stone building.

"Do you know how ridiculous you sound, lass?" Brynjolf's voice was the harshest that Freja had ever heard, and it was painful to feel the sound of his shout echoing against the stone walls. "Karliah killed Gallus. She's run from us this many years… How can you say this, how could you possibly believe—?" He paused, a different line of thought emerging again in his head. "How long have you worked with her? I didn't want to believe it, but... Mercer told me." Brynjolf said, his voice lowering until a near-whisper.

Freja scoffed at him, his anger repelling her patience, and took few aggressive steps forward again, only a foot separating them. "Work with her? I began _helping_ her clear her good name the day she saved my life from Mercer! I heard him speak every word; he killed Gallus, and he was prepared to finish the job with me! His journal describes everything. Or do you already know all this?" She said accusingly, spitting the words in anger. Taking another step towards him, she suddenly felt stronger. Brynjolf's eyes widened. The two of them were mere inches apart.

"For gods' sakes, woman!" He replied, taking note of how close they were, remembering the electricity in the air whenever they were together. "What are you talking about?" The journal... That was what happened in Markarth. Mercer had told him that Karliah and Freja were after a translation for it. That's what he failed to retrieve when he was knocked out and left for the guards.

"Karliah warned me to be cautious against you," Freja sneered, a small, cruel smile on her face as she leaned against the wall to her left, letting its chilliness force goosebumps all over her body. Brynjolf turned towards her as she moved. "Mercer killed Gallus, and he was prepared to kill again. I wonder… Since you're his second-in-command, maybe you knew all this already. Maybe you helped him plan it," she snickered, her voice cold and unfeeling.

Brynjolf felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. He adored Gallus like a father, and he cared deeply for Freja, too. This was too hard to bear. Grabbing her shoulders roughly, he squeezed them and looked into her eyes.

"Gallus was the only father I've ever had. You know this... How could you... How could you think this? After all we've been through?" Brynjolf shook her shoulders slightly, and Freja began to feel panicked. Their faces were three inches apart.

"Take…your hands…off of me," she growled. "I don't know what to think anymore. What's wrong, what's right... All I know is what's true, now. Can you say the same?" Staring intensely at her for a moment, Brynjolf released her, stepping away, feeling ashamed. He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples as he tried to think about what to say.

"Gone for weeks, without one word, Freja… Not a single word. Deep down… I kept preparing myself for the possibility—nay, the inevitability—of your death. Mercer told us all you were gone, and I readied myself even though I couldn't quite believe him. And here you suddenly appear, and I discover that you've been with Karliah all this time, just as Mercer said when I pressed him for answers? The woman who, until perhaps a few moments ago, I believed to have murdered the only father I've ever known? And instead, you suggest that the only other man who took me in after Gallus' death killed him and framed an innocent woman for it?

"Well forgive me if I don't fall down on my knees and beg forgiveness, lass, but I won't do that. Not now. You abandoned us all, your family; you questioned your trust in us, and especially in me. Me…" He stopped a moment, his voice cracking. "And I'm just supposed to believe you? And all this?"

She wrapped her arms around herself defensively. "I know I'm asking for a lot, especially after what has happened the last few weeks... But please, Bryn, open your eyes. From what I know of Gallus, from what I've been told, that was not the kind of man he was. He did not run from hard truths. _You _shame his memory if you dare to call him father and then ignore his fate. Ask yourself the difficult questions about Mercer and his motivations, and then come find me, if you can. I…I..." She trailed off, wanting to tell him how much he meant to her, but it didn't seem right. Like a wolf facing an avalanche, Freja knew she had to get out of there as quickly as possible; she didn't care if Karliah was coming or not anymore.

Brynjolf was dumbstruck, and as she turned to make a hasty exit, he grabbed her arm again. Freja shrugged his grasp off violently, but his grip only tightened, and a sick, cold fear spread throughout her body. Brynjolf would never hurt her. She knew that. But…

"I can't just let you go," he said softly. "Not again."

Freja turned slowly towards him, his large hand still clutching her arm. Looking into his eyes, Freja suddenly felt confused...because of how badly she, in that moment, wanted to fling herself at him and hold him. Kiss him. She hadn't let herself think in such a way, but... It had been weeks since she'd been able to talk to him, or run her fingers along his cheek.

She took a step closer, contemplating it, when a low, smooth voice emerged from the darkness of the graveyard.

"That won't be necessary, Bryn. We aren't going anywhere."

Both Brynjolf and Freja turned to look outside the mausoleum, and sure enough, emerging from the trees was Karliah. Brynjolf let his grip on Freja go, immediately reaching for his dagger, but she put her hands up quickly in a sign of surrender, interrupting his action with her words.

"As Freja has explained... I have proof that you, and the entire guild, have been misled."

He lowered his dagger only a few inches. "No tricks, Karliah, or I'll cut you down where you stand. It better be some damn good proof."

Karliah nodded, reaching in her side satchel to grab a book. "I have Gallus' journal, as mentioned... You know his handwriting. Tell me if I'm lying. I think you'll find its contents disturbing."

Reaching out, Bryn grabbed the journal, walking from the mausoleum towards the torch that hung only a few feet away on a wooden stand. Freja followed him, barely breathing.

He paged through it quickly, using a shorthand lexicon Enthir had included and bits of translation to piece it all together. "No... It can't... It can't be. I've known Mercer too long."

Freja's heart skipped in her chest. _Did he believe? _"It's true, Bryn. Every word. Mercer's been stealing from the guild for years, right under your noses." Freja whispered softly.

Shutting the book after a few more minutes, Brynjolf sighed, rubbing his temples again. "I don't know what to say. I'll go pay Mercer a visit, I suppose."

Freja stepped towards him, the moonlight dimming behind some clouds. "I'm coming with you," she said forcefully.

Brynjolf shook his head, chuckling at her audacity. "Absolutely not, I don't—"

Freja didn't let him finish. "That wasn't a request. If things get messy, you'll need backup. And I want to see how he tries to worm his way out of this one."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes, obviously displeased by the arrangement. He had to say no; he couldn't possibly allow her to accompany him. His mind was too confused by the question of her allegiance, and also the question of her affection, after thinking she was first dead and then a traitor for so long. But he couldn't resist. Not to mention, she was one of the best fighters and thieves he'd ever seen. "Whatever you say, lass. Just like old times, I suppose."

She smirked. _Just like old times. _Nodding to each other, and then to Karliah as she slipped back into the shadows, they made their way to Mercer's house.


	12. The Pursuit

**The Pursuit**

* * *

_Hello again, readers. Enjoy!_

* * *

Freja and Brynjolf walked in silence from the graveyard towards the center of Riften, and Mercer's massive estate. There was an immeasurable tension in the air as a result of all they'd just said to each other, and all the rest they still wanted to say.

Finally, as they neared the Bee and Barb, Freja spoke up. "So how are we handling this?"

Brynjolf stopped walking, turning towards her as he crossed his arms. He still didn't like the sound of this "we" business... Bringing her was surely going to be a bad idea. He was incredulous.

"You know what, lass? I've changed my mind. If you come with me, we'll unsettle Mercer and everything will go to pieces. Let me go in alone and try to talk to him, maybe—"

Freja rolled her pale blue-green eyes. "You saw Gallus' journal, Brynjolf, and you know this isn't some trick. Do you honestly think you can just walk in there and reason with him? Try to confront him in a way that'll make him throw his hands up and surrender? Even if I let you—"

Now Bryn was the one to cut her off, scoffing in anger, his green eyes flaring. "If you _let_ me? Woman, you drive me mad. With Mercer's position in question, I'm the next guildmaster. You answer to me, if you can even be considered part of the guild anymore." Freja went silent, angry. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. Then he spoke a little more softly. "I'll go in under the guise that I just want to have talk with Mercer. He'll be wanting an update on the journal translation; by now he knows I've failed. You sneak in, keeping to the shadows just in case anything goes sideways. After that, we'll meet in your room here, at the Bee and Barb. Does Keerava still keep it for you, lass?"

Freja nodded, and Bryn smiled weakly, though his eyes seemed sad and tired. "Good. We'll need to discuss everything before we bring it to the guild. Then we can find Karliah and get this over with."

Freja sighed, noticing how Bryn still seemed uneasy around her. If everything played out as it was supposed to, then he would have to believe her, and hopefully he would be able to forgive her for disappearing. He needed to recognize that she did it for the guild... And for him.

* * *

Bryn entered into Mercer's main waiting room only ten minutes later, sauntering in with one of his famous smiles. Vald, one of Mercer's mercenaries, stood in a doorway on the opposite side of the room. At this moment, Freja would be attempting to enter into the mansion through the upstairs walkway—as long as there weren't too many mercenaries patrolling. It was too soon for trust... But Bryn knew he had to trust her in this moment.

"Hello Vald. Is Mercer in?" He approached the marauder, noticing that he seemed jumpy.

"Uh... N-no. Nope, he's not." Vald said, fidgeting where he stood, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Brynjolf watched warily.

"Oh, is that so? Well I have some important guild business to discuss with him, so I'm afraid I can't wait." He took another step forward, and Vald's eyes widened. _Why does he look so nervous?_

"Well that's too bad, Brynjolf. You aren't getting in," He replied, taking a step forward as well.

"I don't want any trouble, Vald. But I'm not leaving, either." Brynjolf smirked.

A smooth, disembodied voice called cheerfully from the other room. "Relax, Vald. Just send him in already."

Brynjolf shot the mercenary a look of _I-told-you-so_ before pushing past him into Mercer's reception room.

"Well, well, if it isn't Brynjolf," Mercer said. He was reclining there, with his feet up on the corner of his desk. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you anytime soon after your incarceration in Markarth," he said cheerfully.

Too cheerfully. Mercer was never one to take failure lightly; it put Bryn on his guard. An eerie silence filled the mansion, hopefully as a result of Freja slowly taking out the opposition.

"Thankfully the guild has friends everywhere. Of course you'll understand by now that the translation was lost." Brynjolf spoke as he watched Mercer's eyes, and his body language, for any sign or revelation that something was off. Mercer just sighed, letting his feet hit the ground as he sat normally in his chair.

"Yes, your failure was made quite plain to me. But it's of little importance now... You see, just as the Guild has friends everywhere? I have friends everywhere. Friends, and eyes."

Brynjolf took another step forward, wary of where this point of the conversation would go. Mercer just chuckled. "How foolish of you to fear Maven Blackbriar, when I wield the true power and influence. Those things buy loyalty, and—"

Brynjolf cut him off, rolling his eyes at the sheer ego of Mercer's words. "For the sake of the Nine, Mercer, what are you—"

But now it was Mercer's turn to interrupt. "Karliah was spotted in our guild graveyard not less than twenty minutes ago. She was seen speaking with you, and with that—" he clenched his teeth here in absolute rage, thinking of Freja— "that other one. I should have known, you were working with them all along."

Brynjolf moved to speak, but Mercer stood up, motioning for his guards to come restrain Bryn. "How perfect a story. You decided to blindly follow your murderous surrogate mother and your pale little girlfriend in order to throw me out of the guild, once and for all. The guild will not believe it, since they love you and respect you, but I'm a convincing storyteller." He smiled wickedly, running his pale, bony hand through his silver hair.

As soon Bryn felt the mercenaries' hands on his shoulders, he swung around, shaking off their grip and offering his fists to both of them. Dodging and ducking, Bryn easily incapacitated one, and was about to set his sights on the second, when Mercer walked calmly forward holding a sword that looked as if steam was emanating from it. "A touch or two from this sword, and you'll be turned to a solid block of ice. Are you willing to risk it?"

Now it was Bryn's turn to smirk. He answered without a moment's hesitation. "I'm willing to risk it all." Grabbing his dagger from his side, the two men charged after each other, crossing blades with a fury. Bryn was good, but Mercer was better, and his was the better weapon. Soon, with every block and parry, Bryn was making mistakes. No one was good enough to face Mercer alone, and he prayed Freja would get there before he was turned into a bloody popsicle.

Suddenly, just when he thought he had the upper hand, he felt a blade at his neck. One of the two mercenaries he'd fought minutes earlier had come up behind him, his sword nervously shaking against Brynjolf's throat. Bryn froze, knowing it was over.

"As always, it's been a pleasure, Bryn," Mercer said, quite pleased with the way things turned out. Yet though he raised the Chillrend blade to Bryn's neck, he suddenly chuckled, shoving the sword into the mercenary's hand.

"I will not be doing the killing myself unfortunately; I have a bit of business to attend to. Now, if you'll excuse me. Vorus, finish the job," he said harshly to the mercenary behind Brynjolf before walking towards the door.

"You're a coward," Brynjolf said spitefully after him.

Mercer just chuckled. "At least I'll be a rich one."

Leaving the room, he left Brynjolf standing with the blonde, buff mercenary behind him. Brynjolf spoke to him gently. "Listen, Vorus, is it? I'm going to need to you not to kill me."

Vorus chuckled. "I do whatever Mr. Frey says, and that's slicing your throat and turning your blood to ice. I'm going to get a hefty portion of the guild's funds for this. Maybe even one of the eyes!"

Brynjolf grimaced, not understanding the last part of what he said. He winced as the man pressed the blade against his neck, feeling the freezing pain searing down into his collarbone, when suddenly he heard a whizzing sound, and then a grunt as Vorus slumped over onto Brynjolf's back, the Chillrend blade falling to the ground with a shattering sound.

"What the..." Letting the man fall to the ground, Bryn looked to see that an arrow had pierced the back of his head, and was now sticking out his eye socket. The sight shocked Brynjolf, and he looked up to the doorway to see Freja standing there with her bow drawn.

"Gods, did you have to do it like that? Why not hit him in the ankle and be done with it?!" He bellowed, secretly glad to see she'd come before he had to die.

She rolled her eyes at him. "First of all, yes. And second, I wasn't going to take a chance with that blade at your throat. A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed."

He rolled his eyes back at her, though a pleased smile crossed his lips at her haughtiness. "Mercer's gone."

Freja nodded. "I found these on one of the mercenaries I took down. It looks like a map, or at least a plan of some sort."

Bryn approached her, pouring over the paper. It was mostly scribbles, and a few images that didn't seem to make sense. "Here," he said, pointing at the top left corner. "_The eyes,_ it says... That's what this mercenary here said just before you took him down. He said '_Maybe I'll even get one of the eyes,' _as if it were some type of treasure." After a few moments of silence, his eyes widened. "By the Gods... I think I know what he's talking about."

Freja opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but in another second, Brynjolf went flying from the room.

* * *

Within ten minutes they stood in Freja's room at the Bee and Barb, only the glow of a candle lighting the space. While Freja packed up a few supplies she'd left, Brynjolf paced back and forth. "The Eyes of the Falmer, could it be..?"

Freja turned towards him, throwing her rucksack on the bed with frustration. She stared at Brynjolf until he turned towards her, a puzzled look on his face. "What is it, lass?"

"Can we please talk?" Freja pleaded. She knew it probably wasn't a great time; after all, the Guild was in ruins, Mercer was getting away with his evil plan, and Karliah, the one who had been falsely accused all these years, was waiting for them in the shadows of the graveyard, hoping to finally clear her name. Still, all of it seemed small in Freja's eyes.

Brynjolf wasn't expecting her to say what she did, his mind too wrapped up in the trouble with Mercer. "Now?" He questioned. "You want to talk about us? Right now. As Mercer escapes." His last sentence or two was more of a statement than a question, and a disbelieving one at that. Deep down, Brynjolf didn't want to talk; he figured avoiding it all would be easier. Every time he looked into her eyes, he ached a little with longing, and even though her story seemed to pan out, he just couldn't face her. He thought Freja had been dead, after all, and that wasn't something he could just bounce back from.

She took a few steps forward, her hands resting on his shoulders. "I'm sorry," Freja whispered.

Brynjolf stared at her, a little dumbfounded. Was she... Was she actually apologizing? He opened his mouth to speak, but she shushed him, continuing. "I know that I disappeared without a trace, and I know what you thought... But don't think I didn't want to come find you every single day. Send a letter, a sign, anything." As she spoke, Freja's voice grew stronger. "It destroyed me. But Brynjolf, I know what the Guild means to you. If you can't accept me, at least know that I did this in part for you. I've found a home here as much as you have." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "You're my family. I didn't quite believe you that day you told me the Guild could be my family, yet here you are, and here they are... I disappeared so our Guild, our home, might survive. And I know this isn't a good time, but you have to know how much I love you. You can't possibly understand how much you mean to me, how much I need—"

"Stop," Brynjolf suddenly said, his tone low and serious. Freja sighed. "But I—" she began again.

He cut her off once more. "Stop," his voice was calm and even. Freja sighed, letting go of his shoulders as her gaze fell to the ground. He apparently wasn't willing to listen, despite the fact that she and Karliah had proved everything to be true.

Yet suddenly, as Freja turned to grab her bag of supplies, Brynjolf marched towards her, encasing her in his arms as he laid a fiery kiss on her lips. Freja stood dumbfounded for a moment before letting her arms wrap around his neck. After a few seconds, she leaned her head back from him, laughing softly.

"What is this?" She questioned, her chest pressing against his.

"Making up for lost time," Bryn replied cautiously, before lowering his lips to hers again. The world could wait—at least for ten minutes.


	13. How Things Change

**How Things Change**

* * *

_Long time, no see! Enjoy :)_

* * *

Karliah was beginning to feel impatient—although she would never show it. She trusted in the abilities of Freja and Brynjolf, despite everything, but it'd been almost half an hour. And that was too long for truly capable thieves. Had something gone wrong? A sick feeling rose in the pit of Karliah's stomach, and she shifted silently, her back starting to ache from leaning against an uneven tree trunk all evening. This was the price of trusting others. All these years, and all the delicate planning… Would it be for naught, now that she put her faith in the hands of others? A wave of indecision and regret began to fall over her. Her eyes darted through the trees towards the graveyard where she'd watched Freja and Bryn walk away together. "If you want something done right," she began to mumble angrily, until she caught sight of them. _They've done it. _She sighed, a massive weight lifting from her shoulders, and as the twosome approached, Karliah emerged from the trees once again.

"Well?" She asked calmly, though every fiber of her body felt electrified. Her light eyes darted back between the blonde wisps of hair that framed Freja's face, and the dark stubble that covered Brynjolf's chin.

"Mercer escaped. But," Bryn continued, a bright gleam in his gaze. "We think we know what he's after."

Freja nodded enthusiastically, a pink tint on her cheeks that Karliah hadn't seen before. _They must've made up,_ she mused silently, smirking a little as she listened.

"He wants the Eyes," Freja continued. "The Eyes of the Falmer. It's why he's been clearing out the Guild resources. It's why he's done everything leading up to this moment. He's been preparing for years, using the Guild for its treasures, so when the moment came when he located them, he could just slip into the shadows without a trace."

Karliah's eyes widened with shock. _The Eyes?_ "So that's what Gallus got too close to? The reason he lost his life?" Even saying his name aloud, after all these years, was like a dagger to the heart.

"Exactly," Brynjolf answered. "And now we have to tell the Guild... There's no time to waste. Are you both ready?" Brynjolf's green eyes scanned the women standing before him. Each meant so much to him; one was like a mother, and the other, his lover. To have them both next to him in this moment, and safe, was enough to provide him strength to face the Guild—a relatively difficult task.

Freja's eyes bore into Karliah. To her, the idea of facing the Guild seemed much harder, since, in the Guild's eyes, they were both traitors. Yet with Mercer gone, every thief who counted himself a loyal guild member would look to Brynjolf for guidance, and he was truly on her and Karliah's side now. _Perhaps this won't be as difficult as I imagined._

"It's the only way. And I think they'll hear reason, once they know everything we've uncovered," Karliah whispered. Freja nodded in agreement, and they slowly moved towards the secret tomb entrance together, all trying to appear confident, and all trembling slightly with the fear of what would come next.

* * *

Within minutes, Brynjolf, Karliah, and Freja stood in the Cistern surrounded by Delvin, Vex, and every other member of the Guild who wasn't away planning a heist or creating a forgery of some expensive artwork.

"What in the name of Nocturnal is going on here?!" Delvin exclaimed, his dagger drawn. Vex, too, stood at the ready, although in her eyes gleamed with a look of curiosity.

"You better have a damn good reason for being here with those two, Bryn," Vex said through gritted teeth. Brynjolf took a deep breath, preparing to explain as he took in the stale, salty air of the Ratway. The water swirled around the Cistern as he began to speak, and so he had to raise his voice. It seemed like years since he'd been here: home.

"I have proof—" He paused, shooting a small smile towards Freja, "—we have proof that you've all been misled. As have I. I have Gallus' journal. It explains how Mercer has been stealing from the Guild for years, how he tried to frame Karliah for Gallus' murder… He tried to murder Freja as well, and he would have, if not for Karliah."

Delvin immediately lowered his dagger. Freja exhaled in relief. His trust in Bryn obviously ran deep. What still troubled her, however, was the way Vex gripped her sword even more tightly, and how her pale eyes scanned over them with suspicion as she spoke. "There's only one way find out if it's true," Vex said softly. "Delvin, open the vault."

"I…" He stammered, staring at her.

"Now, Delvin." Her mouth was a thin line of anger, and without another peep, Delvin, Vex, Bryn, Karliah, Freja, and the others headed towards the vault. This would be the moment of truth; the moment when they would all either see the truth, or see the Guild's trust in one another completely shattered.

"Vex, seriously," Delvin continued as he began pushing his key in the lock, "how can he open up a vault that needs two keys?" As he spoke, Delvin motioned for Bryn to follow suit, using his key to open up the second half of the lock.

"I'm not sure," Vex said with annoyance. "There's no way it can be picked, and we have the best puzzle lock money can buy. That's why I'm still skeptical. I've heard tales of Guild members dying, of murdering one another, of betrayal... Now all three of you are standing here, and I don't know what to think."

"He didn't need to pick the lock," Karliah whispered calmly, her thin arms folded over her chest.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Vex shot back. The question didn't matter; in another moment, Bryn and Delvin had unlocked the vault, and as the heavy, metal doors swung open, everyone was astounded to see… Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a single coin, jeweled cup, or royal circlet. The entire room erupted in confusion and gasps.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" Vex screamed, pulling her sword out once again. "I'll kill him!"

"It's all gone!" Delvin breathed in disbelief.

Brynjolf's brows furrowed at his fellow thieves. "All right, everyone, calm down! Vex, put it away, would you? We can't afford to lose our heads… Give me a minute."

Quickly, Bryn pulled Freja and Karliah aside, opening his mouth to whisper gently. Freja seemed to know what he was thinking even before Bryn could formulate the words: "So how could Mercer have gotten into the vault?"

Karliah's eyes were blank. "All I can tell you for now is that he's abused his authority as a Nightingale."

Freja rolled her eyes, her voice rising in volume. "All right, I've heard just about enough when it comes to these damn Nightingales. What are you talking about?"

Bryn quickly rested a hand on Freja's shoulder to calm her, his eyes widening. "The Nightingales? Then it's all true… Everything I heard in the stories. The Nightingales, and their allegiance to Nocturnal and the Twilight Sepulcher?"

Karliah closed her eyes, breathing deeply, almost as if she felt relieved. _The time for truth is near. _"Yes. That's why we need to prepare ourselves and meet Mercer on equal footing. Just outside of Riften, beyond the Southeast Gate is a small path cut up the mountainside. At the end of that path is a clearing and an old standing stone… I'd ask you both to meet me there at sunrise."

Freja looked hard at Karliah before nodding. "I'm in. I'm tired of Mercer always being one step ahead."

Bryn nodded in agreement. "Aye, as am I, lass. We'll meet you there."

Karliah smiled weakly. "Good. Then get what little rest you can, and I will see you there. I hope you come with your minds and bodies rested; our journey is far from over. If it's all right, I'm going to take my leave to prepare and rest on my own. Despite the Guild finally knowing the truth, I'm not ready to stay in this place. It almost seems like the walls are built out of memories… I turn and I swear I can hear Gallus' laughter bouncing off the water." Karliah paused, a strained look in her eyes revealing that she'd said too much of what was still lingering in her heart. "Well... Goodnight," she mumbled before turning on her heel and walking away.

As she turned to go, Freja felt her fingers enveloped in Brynjolf's large, rough hand. Looking up at him, she frowned. "Let's get some rest," he whispered, pulling her along towards his bedroom.

* * *

In minutes, they sat in Brynjolf's richly decorated room, neither uttering a single syllable, both consumed by the same thought: the last time they sat on his bed in the moonlight, things were completely different. There was no Karliah, Mercer was no enemy, and the only thing Bryn and Freja had to worry about was how they felt about each other, and how well the Goldenglow job had gone.

Brynjolf stood, slowly stripping down until he wore only his pants. Freja sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the hard lines of his back, and the scars that marked it. And to think, she'd come to the Guild only seeking refuge from the Dark Brotherhood. She had never intended to stay. She'd only intended to use them to save herself, and then to move on. _How things change._

"Will you stay here tonight?" Bryn mused quietly, shaking Freja from her thoughts. He turned towards her, their eyes meeting. The question surprised her for some reason.

"Yes..." She replied gently, tucking her white-blonde hair behind her ears. "Yes, of course." He smiled with what looked like relief as he approached her, kneeling down in front of her, his hands resting on her thighs as he stared up into her light eyes.

"Tell me what you know about the Nightingales. No matter how many times I've asked Karliah, she won't tell me a thing," Freja said quietly, wanting to ignore the concerned look in his eyes. It made her feel guilty for having disappeared, even if it wasn't entirely her fault. Even if it was selfless, and in the name of saving the Guild.

Brynjolf smiled. "As far as I understood from the stories Gallus told me as a child, there was something called the Twilight Sepulcher. It was... a sort of temple to Nocturnal. The Nightingales are sworn to protect it with their lives."

Freja bit her lip. "Thieves and temples... It just doesn't seem to add up."

"I know," Brynjolf whispered. "But don't worry. I have a feeling we'll understand much more tomorrow, lass." It was a loaded sentence, and both of them knew it. Karliah seemed to imply that tomorrow, Freja and Brynjolf would learn all there was to know about the Nightgales, because they would _become _Nightingales. What exactly that would mean, however, still remained a mystery.

The two of them suddenly fell silent, staring into each other's eyes. Brynjolf leaned up towards the thin, pale blonde, raising his lips to meet hers with a slow yet burning intensity. "I'm going to have a hard time ever letting you out of my sight again," he whispered, his lips still against hers. Freja smiled, and she wrapped her arms around Brynjolf's neck, pulling him back into bed with her.

"I think I can survive that," she quipped.

They kissed again, only this time Brynjolf pulled away quickly, a grave look on his face.

"Then be my wife," he murmured.

Freja's eyes widened as she sat up in bed, pushing him off of her. "I'm sorry... What?"

"Be...my wife," Brynjolf repeated, this time with more emphasis on the word _wife._ He rolled onto his side to face her, leaning on his arm as he spoke."Lass, I only needed a few months to realize that you're the only thing I'll ever need. Let's not deny the inevitable. Be my wife."

The young blonde's eyes turned towards Brynjolf, and she offered him a sweet smile, her fingers tracing down the line of his jaw. "I love you," she whispered. Brynjolf grinned, letting his fingers rest over hers.

"But absolutely not," she continued. "You thought you lost me, and now you're scared. I won't become your wife out of some warped sense of fear. In fact, I never planned on being a wife to any man."

"Did you plan on being a wife to a woman, lass? Because I could probably accept that," he joked, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

Freja sighed with amusement, noticing the shaken look on Brynjolf's face despite his teasing. She decided to ignore him. "You know I care for you, but can you really expect us to settle down, knowing the life we've chosen? You'll probably be the next Guildmaster, and I'll be by your side. Do you see us raising children in the damp darkness of the Ratway? Or do you expect us to leave it all behind one day and become farmers?

"I told you once, and I'll remind you again, that I was never meant to be a houseplant. Never meant for a life of routine. Tomorrow we may become Nightingales, for Nine's sake! That's the life I was made for—and that's the life you were meant for, too. Be honest with yourself, Bryn."

Dumbfounded, Brynjolf simply leaned over Freja to blow out the candle on the nightstand next to the bed. Then, he laid down behind her, throwing red, velvety blankets over their legs. It seemed like hours were passing.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" Freja asked, feeling Bryn as he pressed himself against her back, letting his arm drape over her chest.

"No," he mused. "I'll just ask you again tomorrow."

Freja chuckled. "Ask me again when you've put an arrow through Mercer's head."

"Noted," Brynjolf whispered, a smile on his face in the darkness.


	14. Rising from the Ashes

**Rising from the Ashes**

* * *

_We're almost at the end!_

* * *

The next morning, Brynjolf and Freja rose early to seek out the Shadow Stone just outside of Riften. They spent the long walk talking and teasing, as if nothing had ever gone wrong between them, and as if Brynjolf had never been broken by Freja's sudden disappearance.

When they arrived, the sun was just beginning to peak up over the Throat of the World, although there was no sign of Karliah. Well, no obvious sign, at least. If she was anything, it was a queen of shadows. For all they knew, she was hiding in the trees, waiting.

"Well," Freja remarked, "what do you think we're going to face?"

Brynjolf's green eyes gleamed in the morning light, and he smiled. "I'm not sure, lass. But whatever it is, I have a feeling it's not going to be easy."

"You're right about that, Brynjolf," a familiar, shadowy voice said. Both Bryn and Freja turned around quickly to see Karliah standing next to the stone, reclining against it nonchalantly as if she'd been standing there the whole time. "But before we take another step, there's something we need to discuss."

Freja's ears perked up, noticing the serious look on Karliah's face. She tugged at the braid of white-blonde hair that hung down her chest, anxiously waiting.

"Aye," Brynjolf said. "What is it?" Brynjolf, too, noticed a strange look in Karliah's eyes, but she barely flinched as she spoke.

"The time has come to decide Mercer's fate. Until a new Guildmaster is chosen, the decision falls to you, Bryn," Karliah said.

Brynjolf gazed over at Freja, a little surprised. _I must decide?_ After Mercer, Brynjolf sometimes wondered if he would be the next Guildmaster, but Mercer was surprisingly tight-lipped when it came to the future of the Guild. Sucking in a breath of air between his lips, Brynjolf scratched at the reddish stubble on his chin before speaking.

"I have thought about it. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you... He betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus in cold blood and made us question our future. For all this, he needs to die."

Karliah nodded, a hint of satisfaction spreading in a smile on her lips. Then suddenly, she walked past both Freja and Brynjolf in the direction opposite the stone, beckoning them to follow her. The both jumped to attention and began following.

"Okay, so now where are we going?" Freja said.

"Nightingale Hall. It's the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the mountainside by the first of our kind. I'm bringing you here so that we can find the edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey." Freja looked excitedly at Brynjolf; Karliah usually spoke in such riddles that Freja was amazed to finally be receiving real answers.

"You see... Gallus, Mercer and I were once members of the Nightingale Trinity," Karliah continued, hopping over a downed tree. Brynjolf jumped over, then helped Freja over in a gentleman-like manner. They struggled to keep up with Karliah, entranced by her sudden honesty.

"We disbanded twenty years ago when Mercer betrayed us by slaying Gallus and dumping his body in the ruins of Snow Veil Sanctum."

"But... What is the purpose of the Nightingales?" Freja said quickly. Karliah stopped, grinning.

"An apt question. We are sworn to protect the Temple of Nocturnal. But this isn't about religion or destiny... It's nothing more than a business contract between yourself and Nocturnal." She began walking again, with Bryn and Freja following behind. "Consider this an extremely risky job, but with a massive potential for profit."

Suddenly, the three of them stood before a massive door which seemed to protrude from the cliffside. Almost as if it could sense them, the massive door swung open, leading to a huge, dimly-lit antechamber with candles burning everywhere. The three thieves stepped cautiously inside.

"In the next room, we will convene with Nocturnal. The terms of this arrangement—of becoming Nightingales—are quite simple. Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. In return, in both life and death, you must serve as a Guardian of the Twilight Sepulchre."

"Wait, what?" Freja suddenly said, her arms crossing defensively in front of her. "In life... and in death?"

Karliah cocked an eyebrow at the blonde's response. "Yes. Once the oath is struck, the terms are binding. Upon your death, your spirit will be bound to the Twilight Sepulchre as one of its guardians."

For some reason, Freja's heart rose in her throat. Karliah turned defiantly towards the door that would lead to Nocturnal, but Freja stayed behind, taking a few steps towards a dusty, wooden bookshelf. She grabbed it, steadying herself. Brynjolf was close behind.

"Lass, what is it?" He asked softly.

"This... This is so much more than simple thievery. This is selling our souls. This is madness!"

Brynjolf smiled, raising his fingers to caress the delicate skin of her cheek. "You're thinking of this wrong. Remember what you said to me last night... You said this is the life we were made for. This may very well be our true purpose. And what better way, but together? I know you sought the Guild out to hide from your troubles, but don't you realize, lass... Perhaps it was Nocturnal, sending you to us. To me," he whispered. "But I'm scared. I'm a Nord, and I expected to spend my eternity in Sovngarde, but... What choice do we have?"

Freja looked up at Brynjolf, overwhelmed by the warmth of his green gaze. She sighed, inching closer to him.

"I'm... I'm scared, too," she mused tenderly, unable to even look at him. She thought back to only a few months ago when she had regretted letting him know anything about her. Now, all her vulnerability disappeared.

Brynjolf almost smiled, though not to tease her, but simply because he was in awe of her. "I will never leave your side. In this, we stand united. I promise," he said softly.

Finally looking up at him, Freja nodded. "Fine. Let's go."

* * *

Within moments they were all three standing in the room connected to the outside chamber. It was pitch black, though Freja could feel Brynjolf's heat next to her.

Suddenly, Bryn and Freja heard Karliah's voice call out loud and clear through the darkness. "I call upon you, Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadow... Hear my voice!"

There was a flash of light, and suddenly Freja was sitting at a richly-decorated table, covered in food and drink. Looking down, Freja noticed she wasn't wearing her armor anymore, but instead a black velvet floor-length dress, with rich black diamonds dripping from her neck. _What in the name of the Nine..._ Looking up, Freja gasped, suddenly seeing a gorgeous woman sitting across the table from her. Her skin was incredibly pale, though her hair, lips, and eyes were dark purple. The woman smiled wickedly, flashing her pearl-white teeth as she bit into a black, rotted apple.

"Well, well," the woman began. "It's been a long time since I've sat before Nightingale initiates. I sense more promise in you than I did in the last group... Although you seem bent on making the same mistake as my darling Karliah. Her love for Gallus was an error, costing me my key and causing my precious Sepulchre to become desecrated."

Freja simply stared, dumbfounded. She had a million questions, but she knew better than to ask them. She was obviously speaking with Nocturnal—or at least, an image of Nocturnal. She wasn't exactly sure where she was, or if it was some type of illusion. And what of Karliah's mistake with Gallus? Was Nocturnal suggesting that Freja's feelings for Bryn were a similar mistake?

"Well, no matter. Why do you come to me, child?" Nocturnal's dark purple eyes bore into Freja's lightness; it made her feel strange.

"I come to take the Oath, and become a Nightingale," Freja murmured, trying desperately to sound confident.

Nocturnal threw the blackened apple behind her head casually, sighing as she did. "How boring you are, my dear. Straight to business, hm? Well, fine. I name you an initiate, as well as restore Karliah's status. But I warn you, dear Freja... I will not accept the same mistake twice, when it can be avoided easily. Do not let your affections get in the way of your Oath. You will do what needs to be done, or you will spend an eternity in the muck of my displeasure."

Freja opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly she was cast into darkness once more, thrown to the ground. Disoriented, she could hear others breathing. "Bryn?" She whispered.

"I'm... I'm here, lass," he said between breaths.

"So she accepted you both, then?" Karliah's voice floated through the darkness.

"I... I think so," Freja said, the words _muck of my displeasure_ still wringing in her ears.

"Excellent," Karliah said excitedly. "Then you will say the Oath and become Nightingales. When all is finished, we go after Mercer. It's time to retrieve the Skeleton Key and finish this once and for all."


	15. Do Your Duty

**Do Your Duty**

* * *

_Thank you, loyal readers, for staying tuned! I really appreciate your feedback and I read every single review! This story is almost finished... Let's hope for a happy ending. _

_-Sass_

* * *

Freja stared into Brynjolf's eyes, exhilarated. Nocturnal's Oath having just left their lips, the blonde thief and her muscled, red-headed companion felt a wave of excitement pass over them. The cavern in which they stood, though drenched in shadow, suddenly seemed a little brighter. It was because they were now the chosen ones of Nocturnal, much like Karliah had been once, and was again. All was right—or almost right—with the world. Now, all they needed to do was find and stop Mercer. Where before it seemed an insurmountable task, it now appeared that success was in their grasp with Nocturnal's blessing settling over them.

"And with that, you are true agents of Nocturnal. There is only one more task. You must choose in what particular way you will serve Nocturnal." Karliah's eyes flickered, as if to relay some hidden meaning in what she said. "As an Agent of Strife, you will be more resilient, more resistant to injury. As a Shadowcloak, you can harness the power of invisibility, as I do. And finally, as an Agent of Subterfuge, you will have the ability to turn your enemies against each other. Close your eyes now and choose, do not utter the words aloud. It is a decision for you and Nocturnal alone. Let your mind whisper it to Nocturnal's ear."

Freja's eyes slid shut, along with Brynjolf's. Neither spoke, yet each convened with Nocturnal one last time, informing her of their choice.

"And now," Karliah said after a few minutes, their eyes falling open again. A sense of calm fell over the room. "The question of the next Guildmaster. After convening with Nocturnal myself, I believe it should be you, Brynjolf." Karliah's pale, greyish face was tinted pink with excitement, and it was easy to see why. For decades she'd been hunting Mercer, hoping to expose and destroy him, and now, the moment was near. She had capable, trustworthy companions, and she'd finally earned back Nocturnal's blessing. And the Guild would be left in honorable hands.

Brynjolf lifted his head, his green eyes flashing in disbelief, although it seemed to be the only logical choice. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Karliah."

She waved off his thanks as if it were nothing. "Nocturnal was very adamant, even though she rarely takes much interest in the happenings of mortals. Thanks are certainly unwarranted. Now," she continued again, directing her attention equally to Freja and Brynjolf. "We go to the Dwarven ruins Irkngthand to seek Mercer. Nocturnal tells me he's heading there to steal the Eyes of the Falmer, and he has with him the Skeleton Key. Her helpfulness in this matter only hints at how strongly she wants him taken care of. Usually, she wouldn't interfere so much."

"Well, that doesn't sound good," Freja remarked, tucking a few wisps of blonde hair behind her ears. Her pale eyes, which for the past few weeks seemed dull, regained some of their characteristic shine, as if Nocturnal's blessing had rejuvenating properties. "Let me guess: that's how Mercer got into the Guild's vault? The one that was impossible to open? Anyone within a hundred miles of Riften has heard the urban legend of the Skeleton Key. What a bastard."

"Aye, lass. A key with the power to open any lock, any door. I can see why Nocturnal was feeling displeased." Brynjolf crossed his thick, muscled arms across his chest.

"Exactly. You're both skilled warriors, but do not underestimate the dangers of where we go next. It's time." Bryn and Freja stared at each other for a moment, the gaze they shared saying more than words could. _It's time. _It meant the end of the line; either they would destroy Mercer and put a stop to his scheme, or they would fail, and the Guild would be irreparably damaged.

* * *

The winding path that led to to the entrance of the ruins stood upon a steep cliff, and it seemed to take hours to reach it, though in reality it was no more than half an hour. Snow whipped in the faces of the Nightingales, clouding their eyes and darkening the sky with a swirl of frigid flakes. "Be on your guard!" Karliah yelled out above the howling winds.

Entering into the ruins finally, everything quieted down. Bryn followed behind Karliah, with Freja bringing up the rear. Echoing from the depths of the ruins, they could hear steam pumping and metal clattering. Though the dwarves disappeared long ago, it seemed as though the places they once called home somehow managed to burst with life, even still. Sliding silently down the hallway, Bryn spotted a pile of what appeared to be dead bodies. Before he could open his mouth, Freja spoke, whispering delicately. "Bandits, it seems. But who did away with them? Mercer... Or something else?"

Their question was answered almost immediately. Suddenly, a metal clanking emanated from a hallway to the right. As the three Nightingales flattened themselves against the wall, they waited breathlessly until a Dwarven Sphere rolled out into the center of the room, patrolling for something to kill. The weak lights of the ruin reflected dimly off of the sphere's copper body. Before it could even spot Freja, Bryn, and Karliah, the elf shot an arrow through the center of its head, rendering it dead in a matter of seconds. It's machinery split apart, and fell to the ground with a loud, unceremonious clanking sound.

Nodding to each other, they quickly moved down the hallway from where the sphere came. While Karliah and Freja went on ahead, Brynjolf slipped into a half-opened door on the right side of the hallway. Freja heard his gasp, sending her running in after him, blade drawn.

"What is it?" She asked urgently, her eyes frantically darting over the room, seeking out an enemy.

However, upon further inspection, Brynjolf hadn't run into danger; in fact, he was cursing under his breath and scowling at something that was scratched into the wall. At his feet were three emptied treasure chests.

"What does it say?" Freja questioned curiously, walking towards Bryn, her sword finding its place back in the hilt. The red-headed Nord slammed his fist into the wall. "It says _one step ahead_, and Mercer's signature. He's taunting us, the cheeky bastard." Freja's hand rested on Bryn's shoulder, a small attempt at comfort.

"Come on. This will be his last insult, I hope... Soon, it'll all be over," Freja said quietly, her face close to his. Bryn raised his green eyes to her, offering her a weak half-smile as he brushed a thumb over her jaw, wordlessly thanking her for her miniature pep-talk.

"Hurry," Karliah called from the hallway. Bryn and Freja jolted to attention and quickly rejoined her there.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Karliah continued once the three were reunited again, glancing past Brynjolf through the door to the little graffiti he discovered. "Mercer obviously knows we're onto him. The legendary statue with the Eyes of the Falmer is said to be in the grand cavern. I'm sure he'll be laying a trap there for all of us. We need to stay on our guard. Understood?" They nodded at her, feeling more focused than ever.

Continuing down the hallway, the Nightingales came upon a massive golden door. Karliah gripped the handle tightly, grunting as she forced it open, its heavy weight creaking. Freja's eyes widened. They stood at the top of a large staircase; at the bottom, there sat a wide, circular area filled with primitive-looking tents and campsites. "The Falmer..." Bryn whispered. Freja gasped, pointing. "Look!"

As the three of them squinted, they could just make out the outline of Mercer across the massive room, climbing up another huge staircase to a set of doors that most likely led to the grand cavern—his final destination. "It's Mercer!" Freja said again, her voice pouncing from her throat as more a shout than a whisper. Although he should not have been able to hear, Mercer turned suddenly from across the room, raising his hand in a polite gesture of greeting to the three Nightingales. "Welcome!" He bellowed at them, before turning and running up the length of the stairs. Karliah cringed, quickly grabbing her bow.

"Gods," Bryn said, drawing his sword. With the sound of Mercer's shout, the Falmer camp at the bottom of the staircase sprang to life. "At the ready!" Karliah screamed, drawing an arrow back in her bow. From the camp came pouring out dozens of Falmer, screeching and prepared to kill. Karliah stayed at the top of the stairs to attack from a distance, while Bryn and Freja ran down the staircase to engage them blade to blade. Though they were ferocious, the Falmer were relatively unskilled in battle, making the task of defeating them easy enough. Brynjolf and Freja stood back to back, hacking and slashing at their challengers.

"Up here!" Karliah suddenly cried out. Turning, Bryn and Freja saw three Falmer heading up the stairs towards Karliah. They'd all taken at least two arrows, but were somehow still advancing, pelting her with spells of fire and ice. Without a second thought, Freja ascended the stairs, crying out as she plunged the blade Karliah had given her into the back of one of the Falmer. She slashed at the stomach of the other, sending the creature rolling down the stairs. However, as she turned to finish off the last one, she saw Karliah had already done so. As the last Falmer fell, Karliah shuddered, stumbling, and Freja realized she was injured. In a panic, the young blonde rushed towards Karliah as she struggled to stay standing. Clasping her abdomen, Karliah quickly ripped a Falmer-made shiv from the wound.

"Karliah, are you all right?!" Freja gasped, supporting the dark elf as she leaned against her shoulder.

"There's no time for this. I'll stay here to catch my breath while you and Bryn go on. Every second we waste is another second Mercer escapes."

Bryn had finished with the last of the Falmer down below, and so he raced up the stairs towards the two women he cared so much for. "Is she all right?" He murmured anxiously to Freja.

"You need not speak of me as if I'm not here," Karliah said chidingly. "And as I already mentioned, I'm fine. Now get the hell out of here, before I dispatch both of you with an arrow. Go now, fools!"

Bryn and Freja looked pleadingly at each other, but they knew better than to argue, or even say another word. This was the moment Karliah had been working towards for twenty years... Something as simple as getting stabbed wouldn't stop Karliah from achieving her ends, even if it meant that Freja and Bryn had to finish the job. Leaving Karliah leaning against the nearest wall, Bryn and Freja raced across the room where Mercer had gone only fifteen minutes before.

* * *

Freja and Brynjolf slowly managed to pry open the large golden doors that led to the main cavern, where the Falmer statue and the Eyes were held. If the last room was large, then this room had to be ten times its size. The statue itself was unlike anything they'd ever seen—unspeakably massive and equally beautiful and well-crafted. The entrance where the two Nightingales came in seemed to be at the height of the statue's chest, and a thin, winding bridge led across the room and up towards the statue's head. Looking up, this is where they saw Mercer, prying its eyes out rather ungracefully. Freja began running, but Bryn grabbed her arm, widening his eyes at her, then gesturing at the bridge she was set to cross. It was so incredibly narrow that one wrong step would mean falling to certain death. Below, the abyss was covered in shadow, although Bryn imagined it was a long way down. He could hear rushing water below.

Freja turned frantically to Bryn, feeling his tight grip on her arm. "What is it?" She whispered.

"He's here and he hasn't seen us yet, lass. Maybe we—"

Yet before Bryn could finish, Mercer began laughing heartily. The Nightingales gazed up at him. "When will you fools learn that you can't get the drop on me? And you, little Freja, ever eager... When Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade." He stood on a ledge next to the statues head, now leaning nonchalantly against it as he spoke.

Ignoring what he said, Freja looked defiantly up at him, her lips a thin line of anger. "Give us the key, Mercer."

"Why would I do that, when I'm up here, about to escape with everything I need, while you're down there? And what has Karliah been filling your head with, anyway? Tales of thieves with honor, oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises? Nocturnal doesn't care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild. I'm sorry to tell you." Even from far away, Freja could see the horrible gleam in Mercer's eyes.

"The difference is, we still have honor, Mercer." Brynjolf yelled up to him, rage filling his gut.

"I see," Mercer began, laughing, one of the Eyes of the Falmer glistening in his hands. "You've chosen to fall over your own foolish code. To believe in ridiculous things like family and honor and love. Bah! When will you open your eyes and realize how little my actions differ from yours? All of us lie, cheat, and steal."

Freja scoffed at him in disgust. "We're nothing like you."

Suddenly, the look on Mercer's face changed, and he crossed his arms. "Are you sure? You act as if you know Brynjolf so well, little mouse. But why don't you get to know him even better?"

Freja's face scrunched up in confusion, but suddenly, Mercer raised his hand, a purple light emanating from him. Waving it once, it seemed as though nothing happened, until Freja heard Brynjolf draw his sword from behind her.

Turning, Freja was horrified to see Brynjolf advancing towards her, sword raised. "Bryn... What are you doing?!" She asked quickly, carefully walking backwards along the narrow bridge towards the statue. She raised her hands to him in confusion.

"I... I don't know, lass... I can't help it, something is—" Suddenly, he took a massive swing at Freja, causing her to jump backwards just to compensate. Landing, her foot nearly slipped off the side of the bridge, and she fell to her knees, gasping.

"Nocturnal's gift... He's using her gift against you!" Freja bellowed suddenly, though the realization did nothing to protect her from Bryn's blade. She rolled backwards away from him as he took another swing, his green eyes dark with a look that Freja couldn't recognize. "Bryn!" She yelled desperately. "Please don't do this! Come back to me!"

"I...can't lass! I..." Brynjolf yelled back, grinding his teeth as he ran towards her, again swinging his blade down at her. This time, however, Freja blocked the hit with her own blade, pushing Bryn backwards away from her. She stood up, steadying herself as she took a deep breath. "I don't want to hurt you, Bryn... Please, you need to try to fight this..."

Bryn stared at Freja, half a smile spreading over his lips. Freja exhaled with some relief, thinking perhaps he'd freed himself, but then suddenly Brynjolf ran at her, clutching her by the throat and lifting her off of the ground. With his free hand, he took the blade Karliah gave her, quickly tossing it over the side of the bridge and down into the abyss below. Freja hung suspended in the air, defenseless, choking and desperately clutching at Brynjolf's arm as he turned, preparing to reunite Freja with her blade—at the bottom of the ravine.

"I'm...sorry..." Brynjolf barely managed to say through his clenched jaw. The life was starting to leave Freja, although as her eyes began fluttering, she saw something whiz over her head in Mercer's direction. Nocturnal's voice suddenly blared in Freja's head. _Do your duty! At all costs, do what needs to be done!_

With those words in Freja's mind, suddenly Brynjolf crumpled to the ground, gasping in pain. As he and Freja collapsed onto the bridge, Freja gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as she crawled away from him. She barely could move from shaking so hard. Turning back, Freja looked to see the small ebony dagger that she'd shoved between Brynjolf's ribs. It was the one she always kept hidden in her armor. Blood was beginning to pour from the wound, and Brynjolf was struggling raggedly for breath.

_Do what needs to be done. _Nocturnal's words rang out again in Freja's mind as she watched the light leave her lover's eyes. _I'm sorry, Bryn._


	16. Bent and Broken

**Bent and Broken**

* * *

_This one's a long one! Stay tuned for the final chapters coming out soon to bring this story to a close!_

* * *

"Get up! Get up now!" A smooth voice yelled, barely cutting through the static in Freja's ears. She sat unmoving at Brynjolf's feet, unable to tear her gaze away from him. _He's dead. He's dead and I killed him._ In that moment, a familiar sensation settled over her bones. Like the moment Freja was pierced by Karliah's poisoned arrow—the one that nearly stopped her heart from beating and froze her limbs in place. In this moment, she was again paralyzed. Now, however, her paralysis came from guilt over Brynjolf and rage at Mercer's final insult. The scene kept playing over and over again in Freja's mind, only each time, Freja imagined plummeting to her death, instead of stabbing Bryn. _It would've been better just to die. _

"I said get up, you foolish girl!" Karliah bellowed as she ran past, trading her bow for the large blade that hung at her side. From the bridge below, Freja could just make out the shocked look on Mercer's face as he recoiled from the wound on his arm—a wound just inflicted with the sting of Karliah's arrow. Within seconds, Mercer and Karliah engaged in a furious fight, tackling and wrestling like a troll and a saber cat in the wilds of the north. Though Freja felt like she was entrenched in quicksand, she used this moment to join the battle. Leaning down, Freja took one look at Bryn before grabbing his sword. Hers may have been at the bottom of the cavern, but she didn't care; justice would taste all the sweeter when she sank Brynjolf's blade in Mercer's chest—as long as Karliah didn't finish him first. That thought made Freja bound up the stairs, a scream jumping from her lips as she charged on Mercer, swinging her blade down in full fury.

The silver-haired traitor barely managed to avoid the attempt. He was distracted by Karliah's quick and furious blows, and taking a few steps back from both women, he laughed, catching his breath. "I'll give credit where credit is due, Freja. I wasn't expecting you to actually kill Bryn to get to me. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were as mad as Karliah!" Freja turned around, her eyes burning with anger. She answered him with another swing of her sword. Before she could strike the blow, however, Mercer was suddenly tackled from behind by Karliah, sending the two of them skidding and tumbling back down the crumbling stone staircase and near Brynjolf's body. They landed with a thud, both of them groaning from the impact. Freja raced after them, huffing with frustration. She stopped dead in her tracks, however, when she saw Mercer roll on top of Karliah, straddling her on the ground with his dagger pointed at her throat. Her head hung lazily over the side of the bridge, making Freja panic.

Karliah struggled until she felt the point of the blade pressing against her neck. "Don't move another step, Freja, you will see how skilled I am with this dagger," Mercer growled, never taking his eyes off of the dark elf lying beneath him. "Could this really be where it ends, Karliah?"

"I think so," Karliah replied calmly. Her gaze shifted to Freja, yet in her eyes was a desperate look. Somehow, Freja knew what it meant. Karliah was wordlessly saying what Nocturnal had told her only moments before: _do you duty. _And Freja knew what that was.

Charging down towards Mercer and Karliah, Freja raised her sword in attack. At the first sign of movement, Mercer grunted with pleasure, moving to shove his dagger into Karliah's neck. As he did, however, Karliah raised her leg, the hard bone of her knee meeting forcefully with Mercer's groin. He cried out in pain, his dagger falling out of his hand and into the chasm below. In another second, Mercer's eyes widened, glazing over.

As he looked down at himself, he noticed the bottom of Brynjolf's blade sticking out triumphantly from his own chest. Freja had stabbed him forcefully through his armor. "That was for the one I love," she whispered, a sad, pathetic smile on her face as she spoke. "And this, now, is for Gallus."

In one deft movement, Freja placed her foot on Mercer's back, and with two hands, pulled Bryn's bloodied sword from Mercer's chest. He went flying over the side of the bridge—but not before clutching onto Karliah and pulling her with him.

Freja screamed, panicking as she dropped to her knees, grabbing a hold of Karliah's wrist before she, too, fell down into the darkness of the pit below. She grunted at the weight she was holding. Despite his wound, Mercer managed to grab onto Karliah's legs, and was dangling even further down. Freja was now half-bent over the bridge, barely clutching onto Karliah, while Mercer clutched onto her below.

"Freja, don't do this! Help me! I'll do anything, just—" Mercer pleaded, his true cowardice becoming painfully apparent now that he wasn't in control. Freja ignored him easily, turning her attention to Karliah, who hung on limply to the blonde-haired thief.

Freja groaned, her grip on Karliah's wrist beginning to slip. "I'm not gonna be able to pull you up unless you help me. Try—"

"No," Karliah said calmly, her voice weak.

"What?!" Freja exclaimed, loudly talking over Mercer, who was still clutching Karliah's legs, whining pathetically. "Don't be stupid..." She grunted again, readjusting her hold on Karliah. "I already lost Bryn, I'm not letting you fall!"

Strangely enough, Karliah smiled a small, gentle smile. "That shiv the Falmer stabbed me with was poisoned. And besides… All these years I've lived on revenge. My heart is black. All I want is to be with Gallus again, and rest in Nocturnal's shade… Either way, I die. So let me go now." Karliah's eyes drifted to Freja's right, where a small brown satchel sat unnoticed; it was Mercer's. Freja barely realized it, too worried about what she was hearing. Suddenly, Karliah released her grip on Freja's hands. Her eyes widening, Freja tried to hold onto her, exerting all her strength to pull her, as well as Mercer, back to safety. "Please don't do this! What about the Guild? I don't want to be alone!"

"You will lead the Guild, now. And you'll never be alone, Freja."

Then, Karliah struggled, forcing Freja to release her. As if in slow motion, Freja's grip faltered, and she sat staring, watching as Karliah and Mercer fell through the air away from her. In moments, they silently disappeared into the darkness of the chasm below.

Just like that, Karliah was gone, along with Mercer.

And Freja was alone, despite what Karliah said.

The young thief could hardly move as she felt her world come to a grinding halt. She'd lost Bryn, and now Karliah. Looking to her side, she spotted the satchel that Mercer dropped. Digging through it violently, she discovered exactly what they'd come to find: the Skeleton Key—a beautiful, golden key with a turquoise gem at the top—and the Eyes of the Falmer, which managed to gleam even in the dim light of the cavern. She took everything, shoving it all in her own satchel, before crawling over to Brynjolf's body. He didn't appear to be breathing, even though she was too anxious to properly check.

"This can't be happening...c-can't be happening..." She stuttered defeatedly. Sure, Freja had the key, and yes, she even had the Eyes—something that would be extremely profitable for the Guild. But what did any of it matter now?

* * *

A massive explosion from above shook Freja from her grief, causing her to jump in surprise. Looking up at the statue above, it seemed as though Mercer planted some type of mechanic bomb, meant to slow down anyone who would come after him. Freja screamed aloud, cursing. "Damn you! Isn't it enough that they're all dead?!" She bellowed into the darkness, her voice echoing. Mercer's mechanism was attached to the main water line of the underground Dwarven city, and suddenly the room was flooded with hundreds of gallons of water. _A brilliant plan. Mercer's still thwarting me, even in death. _Mercer's little contraption ensured, whether or not he succeeded, that whoever followed him would meet their death.

Grinding her teeth, Freja had the stunning realization that like Gallus, she would die at the hands of Mercer, and the truth of what happened to be concealed from the world. Freja looked down at Brynjolf again, gazing over the length of his able body, red hair and pale skin. "No," The blonde suddenly said aloud. "I'm getting out of here, one way or another. This is not where it ends."

The water was quickly filling the entire room, and it wasn't long before it reached the bridge where Freja sat with Brynjolf. As the cold water washed over them, Freja cringed. It began slowly lifting them, floating both her and Brynjolf's body up towards the head of the statue. Freja made sure to grab tightly onto Brynjolf as she began to swim. As she neared the top of the room, Freja spotted a ray of sunlight peaking in through the ceiling. _So, there's a sliver of hope! After all, Mercer must have had some quick escape planned._

As Freja finally got close enough, she looked up through the hole. It was barely big enough to fit her arm, let alone herself and Bryn, but it obviously led to the world above. Not only could she see the sunshine, but Freja could also feel a breeze sinking down into the cavern. She had to get it open, and fast, or else she would drown. Reaching up, Freja began desperately clutching at the rocks, dislodging them piece by piece and throwing them down into the water that surrounded her and Brynjolf both.

"Come on!" She bellowed as the water began pressing her up against the ceiling. In a few more minutes, there would be no air left in the cavern. She'd made progress, but there was still not enough room for her to escape with Bryn. As the water brushed up against her lips, Freja grabbed Brynjolf's sword, shoving it into the hole to try to pry out more rocks. As the water rose up over her, Freja held her breath, struggling in desperation. _Crack. _

Suddenly, something shifted, and an avalanche of rocks fell away from the hole, allowing enough room for Freja and Brynjolf to climb through. Grabbing onto Bryn by his armor, Freja managed to pull both him and herself up into the crevice, gasping for air as she did so. Freja barely managed to lift Brynjolf along with her. After a few minutes of climbing, the hole above them widened, revealing a small cliff which led to a clearing in the center of a forest.

* * *

Slumping on the ground, Freja dropped Brynjolf's limp body, gasping for breath and stretching out her cramped limbs. Somehow, she'd made it out. Looking down at the crack in the earth where she'd climbed out, water slowly began trickling and spouting from the hole. It amazed Freja that an entire Dwarven city lay beneath the green grass and gently-swaying pines. _Gallus' final resting place... As well as Karliah's, and Mercer's. _But not Brynjolf's. Looking over at his limp body, Freja shuddered. She would have him buried in the graveyard behind the Thieves Guild; it was the least he deserved, for everything he'd done for the Guild—and for her. He was the greatest friend and mentor a thief could ask for. And for her, personally—the great love of her life.

Freja blinked the tears out from her greyish eyes, dragging her fingers through her pale, damp hair. "He's really gone," she whispered to herself. Though she understood the words, somehow they didn't seem to make sense in her mind. _He can't be gone._

"And yet, he is, isn't he?" A smooth voice boomed. In the blink of an eye, Freja was sitting at a long, black table. On it, as before, were all kinds of dishes and delicacies—completely spoiled and rotted. Freja sat in a chair across from Nocturnal again, and glancing to her left, she noticed that Brynjolf, too, was sitting with them, though he was still slumped over. Their armors disappeared, and in their place, rich, black-velvet formal clothes appeared. In Bryn's case, a bright red spot stained the area where Freja had stabbed him. Rage boiled in her throat. She felt like she was suffocating.

"What in the name of Oblivion do you want?" Freja spat through gritted teeth. Nocturnal drank from a silver goblet, her eyes closed, half in ecstasy. As she drank deeply, the purple liquid spilled out from the cup, past the sides of her lips, and down her neck. Her grey-ish skin glittered in the afternoon sunlight, and as she finished, she slammed the goblet down on the table, smiling wickedly at Freja.

"Such drama," Nocturnal said sweetly, leaning back in her chair. "He really means that much to you?"

"How much does your little key mean to you?" Freja spat back immediately, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Nocturnal raised an eyebrow. "Is that some sort of threat? It's dramatic to act thus, dear Freja. I disapprove of your theatrics."

Freja slammed a fist down on the table in front of her. "And I don't give a damn. I did what you said. I 'did my duty,' I found your damned key, I have the Eyes, and Mercer's been dealt with. But I swear to you, bring Brynjolf back or I will dismantle everything we've done. I'll make sure the key ends up at the bottom of that ravine I just climbed out of."

Nocturnal squinted her eyes at Freja, rubbing her chin in thought. "Do you think it wise to threaten a daedric prince?"

Freja rolled her eyes, absolutely defiant. "I don't care! For the sake of the Nine, I killed the man I loved to get you back your precious Skeleton Key. With Mercer gone, Brynjolf is the rightful next Guild master. Do you really need him guarding your dusty crypt for eternity? Imagine the glory we could bring you in life. Now, with our skills. With the Guild at our backs, finally prospering as it should."

"Hm," Nocturnal mused, her purple eyes darting back and forth. "I've never been so disrespected by a mortal before. I should take your intestines and use them as a scarf," a wicked smile spread on the daedra's lips as she spoke, "but you don't deserve the honor. Fine, I will make you a deal."

Freja could barely breathe, utterly disbelieving what she was hearing. _Did I really just talk Nocturnal into a deal?_

"I'll release you and Brynjolf from your promise to serve me in the afterlife," she began, her eyes flashing, "provided that every single day of your waking lives, you choose to serve me first and foremost. After all, I foresee a bright future blooming for the Guild under your joint leadership. Understood, Dragonborn?" She said the last word delicately, taking care to enunciate every letter. "My world of shadows will trump everything. My glory will be your only aspiration in life."

_How can I promise to serve her every single moment, when I'm the Dragonborn? Surely it won't be possible._

_"_Fine," She muttered quickly, without giving the idea another thought_. _"Now bring Brynjolf back." _I'll have time to second-guess it all later._

"I will not," Nocturnal said simply. Freja's pale eyes widened, her jaw dropping as she gazed at the gorgeous and terrifying creature before her.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I don't need to. You see, your darling chose to become an Agent of Strife, dear Freja. Which means," Nocturnal said, picking at her nails, as if she were completely bored by the present conversation, "he will heal from nearly any injury inflicted on him. Some take longer than others, I'm afraid. Yours was quite nasty," she smiled, her nose scrunching up at the word _nasty_. She paused for a few moments, an inscrutable look in her eyes as she gazed at Freja. "Enough already, I have other things to attend to. Freja, don't forget our deal. I'll be watching." Lifting up her hand, Nocturnal snapped her fingers, and suddenly everything changed: the daedric prince, the table, and the food were gone, Freja and Brynjolf were back in their armor, and Brynjolf suddenly gasped to life, heaving and coughing up water as he tried to breathe.

Freja immediately crawled over to where Brynjolf was lying on the ground, pulling at the ties and buckles of his armor.

"Good to see you too, lass," he whispered hoarsely. "Undressing me already?"

Pulling at his cuirass, Freja threw it aside and ran her fingers along the spot on Bryn's abdomen where she'd stabbed him. Nocturnal was correct; there was hardly even mark where the blade pierced his skin. He had healed.

"By the Gods, Bryn," Freja whispered, tears welling in her eyes. Laying her head on his chest, Freja rested her ear close to his heart, reveling in the _thumping_ sound it made. Weakly, Brynjolf ran his fingers through Freja's white-blonde hair.

"What happened, lass?"

"We did it," Freja began, her eyes falling shut. "Somehow we survived. Bent and broken, but alive. Shall we go home now?"


	17. Beginning's End

**Beginning's End**

* * *

Welcome to the final chapter of _ToTN. _I thank each and every one of you who've read and enjoyed this story and these characters as much as I have. This adventure ends here, but as we all know, adventure never truly stops in the world of Skyrim... Tune into my next story, _The League of Dragonborn, _for a whole lot more. Love you guys! -Sass

* * *

It was dusk. A fog had rolled into Riften, along with a warm, steady rain, coating the streets in mist and shadow. It somehow seemed appropriate, given the victory Brynjolf and Freja had achieved only days earlier. Mercer had been defeated, the Skeleton Key had been returned, and Nocturnal's blessing was restored.

Brynjolf ran towards the cemetery, heaving as he stopped to catch his breath, leaning against a crumbling tombstone. "Of all the places to meet," he said between huffs, scratching at the stubble on his chin as he looked around. He'd been outside of Riften all day meeting with the Blackbriars. As always, they had to stay informed about the happenings within the Guild.

Approaching the mausoleum at the edge of the cemetery, Brynjolf smirked. "You there, lass?" The rain dripped down his chin as he sighed contentedly, unable to believe how things had turned out for them.

He'd returned home two days ago to bring news to the Guild—and a triumphant return it was, despite their losses. With Karliah gone and Mercer defeated, Brynjolf prepared to take his rightful place as Guildmaster, and while he sorted out business with the Blackbriars, the Dark Brotherhood, and other powerful players throughout the Rift, Freja went to return the Skeleton Key to its rightful place. They'd hardly seen each other since everything happened at Irkngthand, and Brynjolf was looking forward to sharing a moment of peace with Freja. Actually, more than one moment of peace. He wanted to hold her, and he didn't want to let her go.

Freja stepped out of the shadows, leaning her delicate frame against the doorway of the mausoleum. Her white-blonde hair was still dry. "I'm here," she said softly, a tender look in her eyes.

Brynjolf moved towards her like a hunter to the kill, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her out into the rain with him. Freja yelped as he lifted her up, spinning her around playfully before finally setting her down on her feet. Bryn pulled Freja against his chest, laughing as the rain soaked the young blonde's hair and clothes.

"Brynjolf!" She scolded, fighting back a laugh. Her pale eyes shined as brightly as her tight, black leather armor, which was now slick and wet with rain.

"What, lass? Can't handle a little water?"

Freja rolled her eyes, her fingers running down his chest. She gripped the buckles and straps on the front of his armor, forcing him a little closer. "No, actually. After having to drag your limp body and myself out of the freezing water at Irkngthand, I've had enough for a lifetime."

Brynjolf ignored her, letting his hands rest on her cheeks. "A lifetime," he repeated, eyeing her lips hungrily. "You know what I'd like for a lifetime, lass?"

Gently, Freja moved her hands and wrapped her fingers around Brynjolf's wrists, her eyes glancing up to his face, watching carefully as the droplets of water fell from his eyelashes down his cheeks and to the corners of his mouth. "Do you realize how sickening you are when you say romantic things like that?"

"This," he replied, ignoring her cynicism as he leaned his lips down against hers. They stood that way for a few moments, bodies pressed against each other, soaked with warm rain, limbs tangled and tongues dancing.

Quickly, Bryn pulled his lips away from Freja. "And how did you know I was going to say something romantic? Am I that predictable?"

Freja laughed heartily, leaning her head against his chest. "You get this strange, unsettling gleam in your eyes. It's terrifying, really."

They stood together, holding each other silently, until Freja pulled away.

"Bryn," she muttered quickly, looking down at his chest. Her tone had changed to one of uncertainty—almost of fear.

"What is it?" Brynjolf said quickly, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you… Nocturnal has released us from our bonds in the afterlife. I… I spoke with her after we escaped. When I thought I'd lost you." Freja sighed. _I'm going to tell him. He'll be mad, but maybe we can find a solution together. _

It was true that Freja and Brynjolf had avoided an eternity serving Nocturnal, but naturally, such an outcome came with a price. In this case, the price was Freja and Brynjolf's lives. As Nightingales, Freja and Brynjolf had sworn to serve and protect Nocturnal's glory. However, despite being Nightingales, they were still autonomous beings, free to live their lives as individuals. Yet now, given what Freja had agreed to, the two of them were no longer simple servants of Nocturnal, but her bought and paid-for slaves. Their freedom had been stolen.

Freja still gritted her teeth when she thought of the foolish deal she made with Nocturnal. She though she was saving Brynjolf's life, when in reality, he would've healed on his own, using his new-found Agent of Strife power. It was a cruel, dishonest deal, but then again, what else could one expect from a daedric prince? Not just that, but the patron prince of thieves, schemers and liars alike?

Either way, it seemed like a small price to pay when Freja watched Brynjolf open his eyes and breathe again. She swore she'd never felt such relief and hope in her life.

Brynjolf's eyes widened slightly at Freja's words. _Could it be? _ "Really? Well, I can't say I'm unhappy to hear that… How did you manage such a thing?" Gripping Freja's shoulders, Bryn squeezed her lovingly, a gesture meant to show his appreciation for such an achievement.

"Well, here's the thing." Freja breathed, nervous to share the parameters of the new deal with him. "She said—"

"Ahem." A voice suddenly cut in, breaking through the sound of the rain as well as their intimate moment. Freja and Brynjolf both turned to see a young thin man wearing simple peasant's clothing.

"I've got a letter for someone named Freja? Said it's important," the young man muttered.

Freja pulled away from Brynjolf abashedly, taking the letter from the courier's hand wordlessly. For some reason, she was pleased for the interruption.

"Not sure from who, but apparently it needs to be read right away. That's all, gotta go." The man turned swiftly on his heel and disappeared back into the rain and mist.

Freja smiled weakly at Brynjolf before turning towards the mausoleum. Brynjolf followed suit, sighing as they moved to escape the rain. He knew their moment had been extinguished, and barely gave another thought to the story Freja was about to tell, feeling both suspicious and intrigued by the letter.

"What is it?" Bryn asked curiously as his companion tore it open.

Freja read the letter quickly, her eyes widening a little before she shoved the paper messily into her pocket.

"Oh, nothing too exciting. Just the Greybeards again." Freja crossed her arms, feeling cold suddenly from the wetness of the rain.

"Oh really?" Brynjolf asked with a tone of disbelief. "I thought you already went to train with them some months ago. They're checking in on you?"

Freja nodded enthusiastically. "Wanting to see if I'd be interested in learning anything more. Which I'm not," she added quickly. "Not now, at least. There's so much to attend to now, especially with you in charge of the Guild. And I want to be there to help you," Freja murmured, her mind jumping away from thoughts of Nocturnal and promises.

"Lass, don't be silly. This is your destiny, after all. You're the Dragonborn. Are you sure?" Brynjolf asked carefully.

_That destiny was ripped away from me the moment I traded our lives to Nocturnal. _

"I'm sure. It can wait," she said, an empty smile plastered on her face.

"Fine," Bryn nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Let's get inside then. I hear Delvin and Vex have a little celebration planned."

* * *

And a celebration it was. There was music, dancing, tales of heists and sword fights, and more mead than a hundred men could drink in a year.

It was a few hours after midnight when Brynjolf and Freja stumbled back to his quarters, pleasantly buzzed and drunk on the company of good friends and the promise of a life after the dark times they'd seen recently.

Falling into bed, Brynjolf was surprised to feel Freja burrowing against him, her fingers tracing over his chest and her lips working their way furiously up the side of his neck. He knew her affection for him ran deep, but Freja was a private, cautious soul, and even with Bryn, in her was still a sense of reluctance to show her true feelings. _Looks like someone had quite a lot of mead,_ Bryn said to himself.

"I'm glad for the attention lass, but slow down," Brynjolf chuckled as he felt Freja tug at the waist of his pants. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you." Lifting her head towards his, Bryn planted a kiss on her forehead. "We have the rest of our lives."

Freja nodded sheepishly, biting her lip. "I know, I know. I just…" Lowering herself onto Brynjolf's chest, the small blonde pressed her nakedness against him. Leaning up, she placed her lips against his, finishing her sentence without words.

The kiss felt different than any other they'd shared. It was infinitely more intense. Desperate—though not in any carnal way. Vulnerable. _I need you. I'm sorry._

After a few moments, Brynjolf pulled back from the woman lying against him, his brows furrowing as he tried to see her face through the darkness of his quarters, lit only by a few candles.

"Is everything all right, lass?" It was incredible that Brynjolf could read her so well, although it shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Before they were lovers, they were two sides of the same coin. Best friends, as well as partners. And that afforded them a connection that transcended words.

"Yes," Freja lied, her voice a little hoarse. How did he know? How could he sense that something was off, that something had changed? She couldn't bear to think about what she'd done, what she'd given Nocturnal at his expense. All she could focus on now was the feeling of his warm flesh against her, and the strength of his arms closing in around her.

"Now make love to me," she whispered. "Please."

It was the please that took Brynjolf. Coming from Freja, it was the most delicate, intimate thing he'd ever heard. A request, not a demand. A question; unassuming and full of brittle hope. Rolling Freja onto her back, Brynjolf pressed his lips back to hers where they belonged, and slowly moved his hips against hers, pushing himself into her and joining their bodies as one.

* * *

Rolling over the next morning, Brynjolf reached out for Freja, the warmth of the sun bursting through the single grated window of his quarters. His hand searched, but instead he found two letters waiting for him. One was unopened, with his name across the front. The other was already opened, crumpled and half-ripped.

He tore open the first meant for him, the sleep quickly banishing itself from his mind. Another man might not worry at seeing a letter waiting for him in place of his lover; another man might even find it romantic. But Brynjolf knew better.

_Brynjolf, I'm sorry. There's something I have to do._

That was all it said.

Immediately, Brynjolf grasped at the other note, unfolding it. It was Freja's letter from the Greybeards.

_Freja,_

_We beg your presence at High Hrothgar. A great evil stirs, its threat even greater than when you first came to us. Our allies have informed us that you, your Guild, as well as the whole of Riften are in danger. _

_Since you have neglected our last letters, we have sent an escort to retrieve you. Do not act rashly, as you are often tempted to do, for we have reason to believe she is also gifted in the Way of the Voice. Her name is Sofja. In two days time, she will arrive in Riften. _

_Go with her child, and find us on the Throat of the World. It is time to fulfill your destiny._

_The Masters_

Brynjolf crumpled the note up in his hand once he finished reading, his mind jumping from one thought to the next.

_That was why she acted so strangely last night,_ Brynjolf thought.

It was in her kiss all along. _I need you. I'm sorry._

_Goodbye._

**TO BE CONTINUED**


End file.
